The Road To Nowhere
by tajuki
Summary: *Complete. "I always say: Keep a diary and one day it'll keep you." Mae West: From dazzling Paris, foggy London and bustling New York the roads of six unlikely companions all lead to one destiny. Sequel to 'It May Be Rainin' Summary on Bio.
1. Yelling Back

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters of the Harry Potter series. They all belong to J.K. Rowling and associated publishers, etc. No money was made and no infringement was intended in writing this story. 

Author's Note: I strongly urge those of you who have not read my previous work, 'It May Be Rainin' to do so as this story picks up where it left off (sort of) and works from there as a sequel, the second installment in a three part story. Well, enjoy!

Chapter One 

Yelling back

_"Please come now I think I'm falling _

_I'm holding on to all I think is safe _

_It seems I've found the road to nowhere _

_And I'm trying to escape_

_I yelled back when I heard thunder _

_But I'm down to one last breath _

_And will it let me say _

_Let me say…_

_Hold me now_

_I'm six feet from the edge _

_And I'm thinking _

That maybe six feet ain't so far down…" Creed: 'One Last Breath' 

            "Come on then, Harry!" he heard Sirius shout from the foot of the stairs. Folding the last few articles of clothing and shoving them carelessly into his trunk Harry called back, "Nearly finished. Will you grab Hedwig's cage for me, I think I left it by the door."

            Harry liked this house far better than the one he and Sirius had lived in for a short time after fifth year. It had none of the lofty, drafty rooms. You could never feel lonely in this house the way you could at Hampstead Green Park. Harry could feel the unpleasant memories drifting about silently in that old manor. He wasn't sad to note how fast it had gone at auction, but curious to note why his godfather was so eager to get rid of such a grand piece of real estate, and one inherited at that. He wasn't too experienced with the affairs of stuffy, elitist land owners and their inheritors, but he was pretty sure that inheriting a house of this quality wasn't the full out tragedy that Sirius played it out to be. 

            All for the best, Harry thought as he dragged his trunk down the wooden stairs, he liked this house much better. It was a vast deal smaller. He wouldn't easily find himself lost on the wrong floor in this house as he often did in the other one when he was looking for his own room. 

            It was then that it struck Harry. He'd always enjoyed leaving whatever hell he'd fallen into, always excited to be going to Hogwarts or the Burrow. And yet, now as he was presently packing to leave for the Burrow to stay with his friends, the Weasleys, he suddenly realized that leaving home, for once, would be hard. He'd lived in this small Victorian house on the outskirts of Belfast for a little less than a year. Belfast was Sirius' hometown as a boy. He didn't even consider Hampstead Green his home. He'd left that nightmare behind at the age of five. No, he loved Belfast and if Sirius loved it, so did Harry. Harry's world had constricted pleasantly to allow for two of the things he loved the most: school and his godfather. There was room for nothing else, no Dursleys and no evil dark lords on the attack. Harry had had a quiet sixth year and the scars that lingered from the fifth year, although by no means gone, had faded somewhat. 

They had faded for Harry. Others would show theirs for an eternity. 

Harry feared that Hermione would never be the same know-it all girl that irritated the Potions Master with a ready answer. The death of Parvati Patil, dorm mate and friend, had weighed too heavily on her for too long. She still had not forgiven herself for being a second too little too late. 

But it wasn't just Hermione. All of the wizarding community still felt the loss of those who'd died that day, nearly a year and three weeks later. The Ministry suffered. Hogwarts suffered. But in Harry's opinion, none suffered more than Sirius. He'd lost his best friend, a childhood friend, one that had stood beside him when everyone else had thought he was a murderer. Even though he would maintain that he was tracking down all of those who'd inflicted so much damage to their way of life in one unforgettable day, Harry knew that he was hunting Peter expressly. Peter would pay for what he'd done to Harry's parents all those years ago and he would pay for murdering his last friend and the noblest man he'd ever known only thirteen short months ago. Sirius never spoke of that day. He never spoke of what he and the newly reformed Ministry were getting up to. 

But Harry knew something was up, whether good or bad, he couldn't say. Sirius had told him that Ministry business had called him away for a few weeks. He'd seemed very troubled about this new development and even told Harry to pack all of his things for school, giving Harry the impression that he was to stay at the Burrow for the rest of the summer. He just couldn't tell what was going on. Sirius had become a closed book.  

***

"It should be only for a month or two. Besides, I know you'd like staying the summer with Ron better than me," Sirius said with a smile as they pulled up to the Burrow in Sirius' black Mercedes (very nondescript, undercover and all of that). He'd insisted on driving all the way instead of traveling by magic. Harry suspected that he was feeling a little guilty for being so distant since he'd come back from school and now shipping him off for the duration of the summer. That, and the car was new. 

"I know. Your busy with things at the Ministry, that's quite all right," Harry said, sounding a little more miffed than he'd intended. 

"Harry, I'm sorry about all this. But it is important that I go. No one knows Peter like I do," under his breath he muttered, "or at least I thought I did."

Harry nodded his head. He knew all of this. He didn't want Sirius to feel guilty about leaving. He had to go to Florence, the last location of the latest lead on Voldemort. With Sirius in charge of the privately funded search, Harry had seen less and less of him now that he was finally living with his godfather. He wanted Sirius to find Peter, find him and confront him and just maybe after all of this was over, Sirius would be himself again.

"Have a good time, mate. Hey, when I get back, maybe we could go sink some more of this bloody Ministry money into an obscenely flashy car for you, say as a birthday present."

Harry laughed at the idea. He knew Sirius wasn't kidding. He disliked what the Ministry had become and refused flat out to come back to work for them. He'd even suspected the new Minister of affiliation to the dark side. He was working his way slowly through the back pay and lost wages that the Ministry had given him as a payoff for twelve years in a prison that made hell look like a day spa. Charities, of course, got most of it. He'd bought the house in Belfast and his own car (just for sport) and he'd still had some to get rid of. Harry imagined he'd look pretty silly behind the wheel of a car like Sirius'. He had none of Sirius' charm and elegance that lent well to the sleek lines and dark leather. He wanted something fast beyond reason. He would think on it.

"Hey! Harry!" Ron gave his loud salutation as he came down the walk to help Harry with his luggage. "Wow! Nice car Sirius."

"You think it's a girl magnet? The salesman told me it was a girl magnet," Sirius asked with a raised eyebrow. Ron laughed. Sirius didn't need a car. He had an incredible pick-up line already, "I'm a wanted criminal." That was better than a car any day. 

"Oh, look there! He was right!" exclaimed Sirius, as Mrs. Weasley appeared, bustling down the walk. Ron groaned very audibly. 

"Hello, Harry dear! Sirius you look very fetching in your new automobile. Won't you come in and have some tea before you're off? You have such a long trip ahead of you, dear."

Sirius flashed her a winning smile but turned her down regretfully. "Have to be off now," he said exiting quickly before Ron blew a gasket. She was worse around him than she was when Lockhart had a book signing.  "Harry, I'll talk to you soon. Later Ron," Sirius said and then was gone.

***

As usual Hermione sat at the table in the kitchen with her nose buried in a book, a stack of them on the table in front of her. 

Ron and Harry had just come in from the garden where they had spent the morning degnoming it. It was a punishment handed down by Molly for yelling at his sister or something to that effect. Harry wasn't too sure what the cause was but he decided to help out anyway. He thought it was fun. 

Ginny was home after a year spent at school in France. She'd spent her entire fifth year at Beauxbatons and had come back taller, quieter and fluent in French. Harry suspected that being home was not where Ginny wanted to be. She kept to her room and ate her meals alone. Or, maybe she just behaved like that because Harry was there. Ron assured him that she'd been acting peculiar since last summer and going away to school had little to do with it. Hermione backed this story up and added that she's noticed that Ginny looked a little under the weather. Oh no, Harry thought sarcastically, a repeat performance of her behavior during her fourth year. This could get tiresome. 

The last time they'd actually spoken, Harry was confined to a hospital bed and Ginny had stormed out on account of Harry not letting her die in Azkaban. He was tired of trying to figure her out. If she wanted to, she could let him into her little world, but Harry had decided long ago that he would not chase after her where she didn't want him. 

She'd said little to him during his stay at her home. He'd only seen her on few occasions when Molly had forced her to eat with them, but as May came to a close, her parents were not around to force her to live like a normal human being. Her father, as always and perfectly understandably, lived at the Ministry. Arthur was still one of Dumbledore's most trusted connections inside the Ministry. Molly had accepted an invitation to stay with Penelope Clearwater's family in their home in the lake country of Derbyshire. After Percy's death, Harry was informed, his fiancé had become very attached to his mother. Ron also offered that she was tired of having to deal with Ginny.          

Bill had been left to look after them in the absence of any parental influence. Harry had to laugh at this. He was possibly less responsible than Fred and George. He checked in every so often, but was mostly out late and home late, etc. He had a flare for partying hard. 

At present it was just Harry, Ron and Hermione in the house and, although you wouldn't know it, Ginny was there as well. 

"Ron, it's important that you get a head start on assignments like this," Hermione lectured with none of her usual spirit for arguing. Ron hadn't argued back since before the end of fifth year. Their relationship had taken the strangest of turns since then. Ron was bothered by the death of his brother, never having actually lost anyone close to him before and had taken the whole thing very hard. Hermione, although Harry never doubted that she would always love Ron, could not be there for him or support him emotionally. She'd suffered as well. They had come to an understanding of sorts to put an end to their relationship that was straining under the pressure and deal with their own problems. 

As Harry watched the two of them, he realized that this had only made them stronger people and gave them a stronger friendship in the end. 

"Just pick a topic for me. I always hate choosing my own," Ron said thumbing through a dusty old biography on Helga Hufflepuff. 

"Fine Ron, but don't complain when I give you a very difficult one. You need the challenge."

Ron groaned a little before resigning his academic fate to Hermione. 

She smiled slightly and asked, "How do you feel about goblin rebellions?"

Ron's head dropped onto the book with an audible thud causing Hermione to laugh a little before asking if he was all right. Ron was the best thing for her in Harry's opinion. He hadn't seen her laugh in a long time. 

Undetected by Ron and Hermione, as they were too involved in convincing one another of their viewpoint concerning the upcoming History Thesis they were to present at the end of their final year (a whole eleven months away as Ron put it and only eleven short months in Hermione's opinion) Ginny slipped into the room under Harry's scrutinizing stare. Curious, Harry thought as he watched her walk silently to the corner of the kitchen to retrieve something from a drawer there (what, Harry wasn't certain, she didn't appear to be holding anything when she turned and saw him staring). Her deadpan expression changed little when she met his eyes. She promptly retreated the way she'd come, but not before she was stopped with a word from Harry. 

"Are you alright, Ginny? You don't look well," Harry knew she would not answer and he'd asked her that at least a dozen times since his stay there began a week ago. Honestly, he had no idea why he insisted on asking. Even though he had realized that they were definitely wrong for each other a long time ago, he still worried about her. She was, after all still a friend and the little sister of Ron. She did really look alarmingly ill.

She turned to leave after acknowledging his concern slightly but was brought back into the room with a comment from Ron. 

"You don't look well," he repeated Harry and then laughed and dodged a warning blow from Hermione. Harry was definitely missing something. "Really Gin, there are dead people who look better than you."

Ginny shook her head and turned to Harry, "No, Harry. I'm quite alright, just a little under the weather lately." She gave a feeble attempt at a smile and made to leave again when Ron commented, "Under the weather! You're a shameless liar you are."

Harry knew he was definitely missing something now and was becoming very confused. He was just about to ask to be enlightened when Ginny rounded on Ron who was sitting close to the door she was standing at. 

"What the hell does that mean Ron? Just come out and say what you're thinking, why don't you? I know you're dying to tell someone. I'm used to being the joke around here. Go ahead, you have my permission." She was full out yelling now. Harry scooted his chair away from Ron's and hoped that he didn't call attention to himself. She could scream like her mother, and that would send any man running for cover. Harry was suddenly scared of her, even when she looked this tired and worn and she was a good five inches shorter than him. All of that made no difference. She was terrifying. Poor Ron. 

Ron stared at her, mouth open, eyes wide with astonishment.

"I didn't think so," Ginny said with a raise of her eyebrows and then hurried up the stairs without a word. 

"Ron, can I talk to you outside?" Hermione said forcefully taking him by the arm and leading him out into the garden. 

"Sure Hermione. What do you want to talk about?" Harry heard Ron say in his best "I'm innocent, don't hurt me, please!" voice. 

Hermione slammed the door behind them.

Harry was alone with a stack of boring, dusty books about the history of the Hogwarts Founders, The Third Goblin Rebellion of 1410 and the like. His eyes fell on a picture and text about a battle in medieval Ireland. Very boring.

***

"I'm going to Diagon Alley, they have an excellent library there and I need more reference material on the Founders. Ron's coming along, how about you, Harry?" Hermione asked, returning from the garden with a silent, penitent Ron. 

Whatever that earlier scene was about he, apparently, was the only one out of the loop. Hermione obviously had picked up on whatever it was that Ginny and Ron were fighting about. Harry felt dim beyond reason.

"Yeah, I'll go," he said, not really wanting to go to the library but not averse to the idea of getting out of the house. 

"Good. I'll go and change, then and we can be off," she said with a smile as she popped up stairs quickly. Harry heard her stop on the landing and open the door to Ginny's room, where she'd been staying while at the Burrow. 

Harry and Ron both jumped slightly as they heard Hermione's voice. She was screaming. "Ginny? Oh God!" there was a pause in which they both exchanged puzzled looks, and then, "Ron, Harry, someone get up here quickly!" She sounded frantic and desperate. Harry wondered briefly what Ginny had done to provoke such a reaction. 

Ron didn't hesitate. He was up the stairs in a flash, Harry following with less speed and agility behind him.

"Oh no!" came Ron's voice, barely above a whisper, as Harry reached the landing behind him. Ron and Hermione were in the room when Harry came through the door. 

Upon entering, Harry could distinguish a deathly pale Hermione and a frantic Ron leaning over Ginny who was crumpled in a heap on the floor. There was blood pooling near Hermione's shoes and a large kitchen knife just beyond. 

He stood rooted to the spot. 

Hermione's screaming at the unconscious form before her recalled Harry to the urgency of the situation. As he rushed into the room he could clearly see where Ginny had slashed both of her tiny wrists that were now bleeding freely. 

"Move, Ron," Harry commanded, hearing himself as if from a distance. How could he distance himself from this, he wondered as he took Ron's spot next to his nearly lifeless sister. The only thought that went through Harry's mind, he would remember later, was that he had to stop the bleeding somehow and get her to a hospital. 

He felt for a pulse, finding only a very weak one. She was still alive. 

Horrible flashbacks came to mind of the same fragile form at the feet of the menacing statue of Salazar Slytherin, this close to death and Harry unable to do anything for her. He would save her this time, whether she wanted him to or not. He wouldn't let her die, she meant too much to him, to her family. 

He pushed the horrible visions of the past to the back of his mind and instructed Hermione to find something—anything—to tie off her wrists and stem the already ebbing flow. 

Hermione did as she was instructed and came dashing back with two white hair ribbons which Harry used to cut off the streams of blood. 

"Ron," he instructed, still sounding unearthly calm when he'd had every right to panic, "go call for help, she's got to get to a hospital soon or she's not going to make it."

The realization of it made him sick. 

Ginny couldn't possibly die, they needed her too much, he needed her.

He cradled her face in his quaking hands as he vaguely heard Hermione whimpering in the background, "Don't leave us, Ginny. Please don't leave us."

Harry watched with horror as her breath ceased her chest from rising and falling.


	2. A Second Attempt

Disclaimer: You know the drill. Everything that doesn't belong to Rowling belongs to me unless otherwise mentioned. No money was made in the production of this fiction, etc. 

Author's Note: Well, what have I to say? I don't fool around. I come to the point of the matter. Let's see if another precious Harry Potter character bites the dust, shall we? Oh, I am also trying my skills at multiple points of view in this story, as Harry's vantage point alone is not challenging enough for me.

Chapter Two

A Second Attempt

_"At times life is wicked_

_And I just can't see the light _

_A silver lining sometimes isn't enough_

To make some wrongs seem right…" 

_Creed: 'Don't Stop Dancing'_

            Sirius scanned the early morning horizon, noting how the limestone and marble of the pristine cathedrals contrasted with the first violent rays of morning. 

            June was hot in Florence.

            He'd just arrived and already he was overcome with a sense of urgency. He had to get to Peter before the others caught up to him. It was the only way. He owed it to his friends that were dead and gone. The realization of the enormous responsibility he had to those he'd lost sat heavy on his shoulders like the humidity. 

            He replaced his shades and stepped from the sidewalk café. 

            It was here that the letter begged him to meet…Peter, he guessed. It struck him as odd that he would even try to contact him. After all, he'd given his best effort to kill the rat before, with witnesses present. He must be desperate if he needed to exploit this vein. 

            Sirius was positive that it was no forgery. Peter had written this letter himself. Sirius had grown accustomed to his style, to that of all of his friends, actually. Years spent passing notes under McGonagall's nose was practice enough. And if it wasn't for all of that, it was signed: Y~ (Yours, Wormtail). This was the way he'd signed anything that involved the Marauders. They'd all had their stupid little secret signatures. Peter was plying on his fond boyhood memories. What kind of an idiot did he take him for, Sirius wondered. 

            Then again, maybe he was the idiot for coming all this way to consult a known murderer and aide to the Dark Lord, killer of Remus, betrayer of James and Lily. No one knew where he was going. No one knew he was in Florence. As far as the private investors in this investigation knew, he was in Rouen, sifting through a dead trail of Death Eater activity. Minor stuff. 

            Yet, he had to tell them something. He didn't want them barging in on this delicate scene. Who knew why Peter wanted to meet him? Why would he trust him? Why should they trust each other, it seemed like a ridiculous sort of face-off, but still he had to know for sure what this was all about.

            He looked down at his watch. Peter was late. That, or he was setting Sirius up. Either way, Sirius wasn't surprised. Both conclusions would be in typical Peter fashion.

***

            Hermione sat rocking nervously in an uncomfortable waiting room chair. Harry stared blankly at the ground as Ron paced and tried to pay as little attention as possible to the others. His father was on the way over, along with Bill. His mother didn't know. That would be up to his father. 

            It was his fault.

            He'd set her off. He really didn't know why he'd become so angry with her. It was just frustrating the way she sulked around and tortured herself. She hadn't realized how much her behavior was affecting those around her. He worried for her. She was acting like a child. They'd all been through a lot. 

            True, he had no idea what went on in the cells of Azkaban while he lay unconscious but safe in a hospital bed. Harry had told him all that he could on the situation, but whatever happened to his sister when she was taken away from the others to speak with the Dark Lord (if that's all they wanted, he was sure that there was more to the story), Ginny had been affected radically by the turn of events. She still had that scar on the palm of her hand and, apparently more scars underneath all of that. 

            He'd tried to talk to her about it. She was silent as the grave on that point. No one would know what happened in there. 

            It wasn't as if he didn't care for his baby sister, he did more than anything and that was what had him so angry. She'd tried to leave him. He was frantic at the idea of her leaving. What would he do without her? This was the second time her attempt at topping herself had failed. She downed a bottle of pills and chased that with a half a bottle of whiskey last Christmas, it was a close call, like today. Ron gave an involuntary shiver at the memory of it. She, of course maintained that it was all an accident and wouldn't you know their parents had believed her. Not Ron, he knew her too well not to realize when she was bullshitting them. And she was.

            There was no way to explain the slashed wrists this time around other than, "Damn, if only I could bleed a little faster." It all made him so angry. They would have to believe him this time. She needed help!

            Ron was shaken from his thoughts when he'd caught a movement from the corner of his eye. It was Harry who'd silently gotten to his feet and headed in the direction of the cafeteria. Hermione continued her methodical rocking and Ron continued his pacing. 

            The doctor emerged from Ginny's room. 

            Ron rushed over to inquire after her. "Critical but stable," was the stoic answer he received. He immediately went in to see his sister who was asleep. Bandaged and pale, she looked helpless. 

            Ron vowed then that he would do all that he could for her to bring her back from that dark and scary place she'd wandered into. In the last year she'd nearly died at the hand of You-Know-Who and had tried to kill herself twice. He would make sure that didn't happen again. He would protect her if it were the last thing he ever did on earth. 

***

            Ginny was awake long before she'd opened her eyes. Images had been haunting her since well before the end of fifth year. At first she thought that she was simply going crazy. Her mother had told her of others in their family who had gone clinically insane. It wasn't such an improbable explanation for things she rationalized. 

            No, she now knew that it was the future she was seeing: a terrifying future, dark and hopeless. How many people, she often wondered, where plagued with this frightening gift. It was awful, the vision she'd seen just before…

            Oh, damn it! Ginny knew then that she hadn't succeeded in killing herself. The pain she was feeling was very real. She had failed. She always failed. Was there anyway she could get out of all of this? Killing herself wasn't working. She'd already tried it twice to no avail. It seemed to her a hopeless case, fate had picked her to carry the burden, become the traitor. The blood of those she loved was already a crimson stain on her hands. There was seemingly nothing she could do about it. As the centaurs would always say, "It's written in the stars and the stars never lie. And they can never be changed."

            She always thought that was a load of crap but now as she'd tried to change them, to rewrite the future, delete herself from the picture. A chilling reality washed over her. They were right. 

            She slowly opened her eyes to the familiar view of the hospital room. St. Mungo's, she was getting to know this place very well. In the past year alone she had made three visits here. She'd been to the morgue with her father to identify the body of her older brother. She'd volunteered as a medical assistant when the hospital was overcrowded and understaffed after the double attack on Hogwarts and the Ministry. She'd also been a patient here when she'd overdosed on sleeping pills and alcohol. 

She would always maintain that it was an accident. She didn't want the worry that her family always heaped on her when they'd thought she was in trouble. Yes, she was in over her head, but she was working on a way out, if they would just stop interfering. She wondered whom she would have to be eternally grateful to for yet another heroic save. 

            Probably Ron. He was the one that found her on Christmas. She still hadn't forgiven him for it. She knew that the "accident" story didn't fly with him. He was virtually the only one who knew when she was lying. She'd have to work on hiding it better. She knew that he was angry with her for causing such a scene, with his friends present no less. She was sorry for it. He wouldn't understand the truth though, even if she explained it to him. None of them would understand, well maybe Hermione would. But this was Ginny's problem and she would deal with it on her own. 

            "I'm so sorry, Ginny," she heard, turning her head to see Ron seated by the side of her bed. "I didn't mean to drive you to this. I'm worried about you. I love you, you know that right?" He seemed on the verge of a breakdown, she had to say something. She couldn't stand to see him looking so miserable.

            "I know you do, Ron," she said weakly. Her head pounded. Was that what severe anemia felt like? Ginny made a mental note: never try to off myself this way again, too painful.

            Ron quickly lifted his head at the sound of her voice. He hadn't realized that she was awake. A wave of relief passed over his features as he reached over and took one of her tightly bandaged hands in his own. 

            "Forgive me, Ginny. I was being stupid. I didn't mean­--," Ron pleaded, but stopped as Ginny held up her other bandaged hand to stop him. 

            "No, Ron. You didn't do anything. I was acting stupid. I just--,"she trailed off unable to find the words she needed to express her guilt in trying to leave him. She knew that her family adored her, Ron in particular, but she had to leave, to keep them safe. She knew she couldn't make herself understood so she just left it alone.

            "You wouldn't understand," Ginny admitted with a feeble shake of her head. 

            "I would Ginny. I would understand if you just told me what was going on. Ginny I want to help you," Ron persisted. Ginny smiled. She knew he would try if she could bring herself to tell him. But she couldn't run the risk that he would be horrified by what she had to say. She couldn't let him help her. There was nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do. Everything had already started to crash down around her little by little. It had happened in Azkaban. She didn't want to take anyone down with her, especially Ron. 

            "Maybe someday you'll understand, Ron," Ginny said in what she hoped was a confident voice. "But not now. I can't tell you now."

***

            Harry still sat shocked and staring at the floor, but at least here in the cafeteria he didn't have to listen to the creaking of Hermione's chair as she rocked back and forth methodically. Ron's pacing was becoming maddening as well. 

            There were very few people around, Harry noticed a few nurses loitering in one corner of the large room, a doctor that had just hurried out, and a small girl a few tables over who was talking to a house-elf. Harry tried not to stare because that would be rude, but she did distract him from the less pleasant thoughts of Ginny bleeding to death all over the rug in her bedroom. Of course, they were all assured that she was fine and would make a complete recovery, but she could have easily died all the same. 

            Harry amused himself with watching the girl as she giggled next to the tiny elf with large eyes and two tiny cat-like ears. It appeared as though they were making fun of the nurses in the corner. The elf would point in their direction and mutter something incoherent that girl would find exceedingly amusing and then they would both snigger and clap their hands over their mouths to stifle the uncontrollable laughter. The girl was younger than Harry, he could tell just by looking at her. Her hair framed her face in silver-blond pin curls that shook when she laughed. She had bright eyes and a broad, cheery smile that lit up her otherwise pale face. 

            Harry couldn't help but smile at the eccentricity of it all. Who would sit in the cafeteria of a hospital with their friend, a house-elf, and laugh at people? These two were the most interesting creatures that Harry had ever laid eyes on. And despite the fact that she'd looked up and seen him staring, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. A few seconds later, the girl had sent the house-elf away. Harry watched as the small creature in a tea towel darted out of the room to execute her order. 

            Harry returned his eyes to the floor when he noted that the girl was coming over to his table. He couldn't help but notice as she moved to the place where he sat that she was in a wheelchair, the first person he'd actually seen in the wizarding world that was wheelchair bound. He was very curious as to how she had come to be like that but thought it too impertinent to ask. Seeing her up close reminded Harry of a little girl he used to see on television sometimes when Aunt Petunia let him watch, a small girl that sang and tap-danced in old black and white films. She had the same halo of silver curls and round, smiling face. Aunt Petunia used to say that the little dancing girl looked as sweet as a baby angel. Harry was beginning to think she might be right. He was seeing an angel now. 

            She stopped in front of him and cocked her head, staring boldly at him. Harry stared back. She reminded him of someone he knew in an odd sort of way. It was the eyes, he gathered, he got the most eerie feeling from them. Eyes like hers don't belong to angel faced girls in ringlets, they had a cold, metallic glint that was somewhat softened by her smile. She smiled at him as if she knew some amusing and incriminating secret.

"Staring is rude, did you know?" she said in a know-it-all sort of tone, very much like Hermione. 

"Pointing at people and laughing at them is rude, did you know?" Harry shot back with a smile. He had nothing better to do, Ginny wasn't awake yet, why not play along? 

"It happens to be my favorite pastime. I look forward to coming for physical therapy every week because Portia and I find the yuppie doctors and nurses amusing. Did you know that you have blood down the front of your shirt? You're not hurt, I hope," she said wide eyed at the end of her sentence as if she's just noticed it. Her concern was well received with a smile. 

"No," Harry answered with a shake of his head, "not mine." 

"It isn't?" she asked in an off hand tone and then added more urgently with a look of intrigue lighting her face, "did you kill someone?"

Harry had to laugh. He appreciated that she was trying to cheer him up. Maybe she was an angel after all. Or at least a blessing sent to lessen a trial. 

"I didn't kill anyone. It's a friend's. She tried to kill herself," he didn't see why he needed to skirt the issue. He didn't know her anyway. What would be the harm in talking a bit with a kind stranger about the whole ordeal? 

"How is she now?" the girl said, raising her eyebrows. Her smile disappeared. 

"Not awake yet. But the doctor said she'd make a full recovery," Harry added trying to ease her alarm somewhat. It was touching, her concern for someone she'd never even met. "I don't know why she did it."

"Don't you?" she asked, "She never gave you a hint as to why?"

Harry shook his head. 

"I know you don't know me, but I know what it feels like to be in that position. May I give you some advice?" she asked speaking in measured tones, but surprisingly un-psychiatrist like, "Keep a close watch on her, but don't make it seem like you're crowding her. Listen to her when she's ready to talk, but don't push her into explaining it all." Harry was curious as to how a girl of her age, around thirteen or fourteen, knew so much. As if reading his thoughts she added with a sympathetic smile, "I've been the worried friend before. It's a touchy situation, I know, but not hopeless."

That's exactly how Harry was feeling. Who knew thirty minutes ago that he would walk into this nearly deserted cafeteria and find her? She'd calmed his fears and cheered him up and left him wondering how she did it all so effortlessly. Her smile had healed him.

"Who are you?" Harry asked and then winced. He hadn't meant to sound rude. 

She gasped and then blushed slightly, "How rude of me. I'm sorry I never introduced myself. I'm Lucy," she thrust out her hand and Harry took it automatically, "Lucy--."

She wasn't able to finish as Hermione came up behind Harry asking him to come back immediately. Ginny was awake. Harry nodded hurriedly and turned to excuse himself. Lucy stared amusedly at Hermione, as if she knew secrets about her as well. 

"Forgive me, I have to--," Harry began and was silenced in turn by the cold and decisive voice of Lucius Malfoy. Harry was surprised to see him and became suddenly uneasy, nothing good ever happened when Lucius Malfoy showed up. The look on Hermione's face told him she was thinking the exact same thing. 

"Lucilla," he said in a bored monotone, not registering the two people standing beside the girl in the wheelchair, "we're leaving." He turned promptly and disappeared through the door he'd just entered. 

So she was a Malfoy?

She confirmed his fear when she turned timidly and said, "It was lovely meeting you, Harry."

Harry was stunned. No way she could be related to the Malfoys. She was too sweet. "You know my name?" was all he could manage under the circumstances.

"Of course I do, everyone does." Harry came to the realization that it was true. There weren't many people in the wizarding community that didn't know his name. That was annoying. "I'd better get going. It was nice talking to you anyway. I hope your friend is well soon," she said with a smile before she looked down at the ground and left the cafeteria after her father. 

Harry and Hermione exchanged wide-eyed looks. 

***

Sirius watched as the owl alighted then disappeared past the bell tower of the large church on the corner. When he could distinguish no more between it and the pigeons on the horizon, he turner to the letter it had delivered him. 

Peter's handwriting filled one line on the folded parchment.

_Take the stairs at the back of the hotel to room 216._

Sirius shook his head slightly, resenting the cat and mouse chase, well, dog and rat chase to be more precise. Did Peter want his help or was he making him jump through hoops before he ambushed him? Sirius was prepared for both scenarios, although he still hadn't decided what he was going to do if he actually came face to face with Peter. His betrayal still burned like fire. Sirius was still full of vengeance for his dead friends. 

He tore the paper into small bits and deposited it into the café's waste paper bin and made his way to the back of the hotel.


	3. Darkness Falls Early

 Disclaimer: The plot, Lucy and Anni belong to me. Imogen is also mine but does not show up in this story (that I can foresee).  Rowling owns all other characters and places that I am using in this fiction. As always no infringement was intended, etc. The dream sequence that appears in this story belongs to me but the idea behind the formation of the diary is credited to a wonderful fanfiction author for the New York University site Diagon Alley, Viola, who has written a fabulous story about Tom in his school days called 'Dreamwalk Blue'. Check it out along with the other great fiction on that site at http://home.nyu.edu/~amw243/ 

Author's Note: I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far. I know it's moving fast but I've got a lot of ground to cover, literally. Hang in there if you don't like all of this dark and depressing stuff some light and fun chapters are on the way. 

Chapter Three

Darkness falls early

_"And if the darkness is to keep us apart _

_And if daylight feels like it's a long way off_

_And if your glass heart should crack _

_And for a second you turn back_

_Oh no, be strong…"_

U2: 'Walk On' 

            _"Hello, Tom," she heard herself offer in a flat, uninterested tone. She could sense that someone had come up behind her but her eyes were fixed on the lipless smile that greeted her. _

_            He did not speak but eyed her appraisingly. After a moment she felt two powerful hands close around her shoulders. She looked down and noted that they were not those of Peter, but someone else. But she could not remember anyone else accompanying her into the room. _

_            Voldemort turned and walked to a low table in the center of the room. _

_            Ginny tensed uncomfortably. The diary lay battered and open before her. She felt her breath catch painfully in her chest. It wasn't gone. Dumbledore hadn't destroyed it. She'd thought she was safe from this trinket of dark magic for so long, safe from Tom. _

_            She felt herself forcefully moved closer to the black bound book that was marred by a giant hole in its cover. _

_"Would you be so kind as to lend me a hand, aid me in the appropriation of my former powers?" Voldemort asked smoothly. _

_Ginny suppressed the urge to laugh openly. She settled instead for glaring sarcasm, "I could. Or you could go to hell." She held his stare, willing herself to be strong, to stand straight, the next moment she knew she would be dead. Voldemort was not famous for his patience. _

_To her great surprise he smiled at her and then turned to pick up the diary, but not before nodding to the thug behind her, signifying some silent command. Ginny was turned roughly and struck hard across her face. She fell to her hands and knees and fought for consciousness. It remained with her a while longer. _

_Blinking back reflexive tears at the pain of a broken cheekbone she chanced a glance at her attacker. Lucius Malfoy. How long had he been waiting to strike her, Arthur Weasley's daughter. She felt as though, of all of her father's children, she'd been singled out as the target of choice for their family's enemy. He was the one, after all, that had given her the diary that now lay open, taunting her. _

_She felt the fabric of her robe rip under the strain of his grip as he tugged her to her feet. She resigned the fight, no way would she win even if she had fought back. _

_He held her throat in one massive hand, constricting slightly as he drew her closer to him, his eyes glinting menacingly as he grinned at the fear she must be showing in her ever widening eyes. She couldn't breath._

_"Enough, Lucius," Voldemort said dully as he walked lazily to the table and thumbed through the charred and battered dairy. _

_Lucius' hand slid around her neck and tangled itself in her hair. Grabbing a handful, he jerked her head back with a snap and threw her to the ground at Voldemort's feet. _

_"I think you will help me all the same, Miss Weasley. You are really in no position to deny me anything," he smiled, removing a small silver blade from a pocket under his robes. _

_Ginny heard herself gasp audibly. She also heard Lucius Malfoy laughing at her in the background. As Voldemort approached her with the blade held out in front of him, Ginny unconsciously moved backwards until she was in a kneeling position. She tired to retreat but ran into a solid obstacle in the form of Lucius Malfoy. _

_Ginny, trapped between two horrible, vile beings whimpered and shut her eyes as she heard Voldemort slowly approaching. He stopped just in front of her and reached down with one scaly hand and grabbed her hand around the wrist so tight it cut the circulation. _

_He pulled her toward the dairy with one swift motion and with the same speed, sliced the palm of her captive hand into two even halves. The sudden pain caused Ginny's eyes to fly open as she cried out in the same instant. He slit his hand as well and placed it against the laceration on Ginny's. _

_She bit back a cry at the intense pain as he squeezed their palms together letting the blood trickle onto the ivory pages of the book. It absorbed the crimson stains just as it has soaked up ink. Ginny had witnessed the effect of liquid on its pages several times. _

_Voldemort held onto her hand pressing it to his with terrifying force. Ginny could no longer feel her fingertips and white lights danced in front of her vision. She slid out of consciousness and into a dark void._

"No!" she screamed bolting into an upright position, "I helped him. He's going to hurt them all. It's my fault!" She covered her face with her hands and rested her elbows on her knees. It had only been a dream, but not just a dream, a memory. In the moonlight that that cut a sharp, sliver line across her dark bedroom, Ginny held her hand out in front of her the scar was still there, a reminder.

***

Harry sat in the dark for hours before finally giving in to the need for sleep. Hermione sat with Ginny for most of the day but Harry insisted that she rest for a while in Percy's old room after he'd found her on the floor scrubbing furiously at the bloodstain and crying softly. She seemed on the breaking point. Hermione, teetering on the edge of sanity scared Harry. She was the levelheaded one, the one with the answers, she always employed her intellect and calm under pressure. Once she was off, there would be no hope for the rest of them. 

The early morning quiet was interrupted by Ginny's screams, "No! I helped him. It's my fault," causing Harry to jump from his chair in the corner of the room. She'd been asleep for nearly eighteen hours before this outburst. Harry wondered who else had been awakened. With a flick of his wand the room was lit revealing a terrified Ginny staring at her hand, at the scar on her hand in disbelief. She seemed not to notice any other soul in the room, didn't even register that the lights had come on. She sat tangled in her linen sheets with her eyes fixed on the line that split her palm. 

"Is everything alright, Ginny? Are you hurt?" Harry spoke tentatively as he stood rooted to his spot in the corner. 

Ginny looked up with the same wide-eyed expression and shook her head slowly, a tear glinted silver in the light before streaking down her cheek as she returned her attention to her hand. She swallowed hard and stared unblinkingly at it. 

"Right," Harry said as he watched her odd behavior, "I'm going to get Ron."

At this Ginny's head shot up and she quickly whispered, "No, let him sleep."

Harry must have worn a set expression because she added, "no one heard me. I'm sure. They never wake up."

Harry walked toward the door anyway. Ron would want to know she was awake, regardless.  

He stopped at the note of pleading in her voice, "don't go, just sit with me until I fall asleep again?" He complied instantly. Of course he wouldn't leave her if she asked him to stay. He released the doorknob and walked over to where she sat shaking slightly. It wasn't cold in the room but she was quaking like a leaf, even under the quilt he'd placed over her hours before. She wasn't cold. She was frightened. 

Harry came to sit next to her placing an arm around her shuddering form and drew her closer to him. She smiled gratefully and laid her head on his chest, one bandaged hand cushioning her chin. 

"What's this?" she asked fingering a chain around Harry's neck. 

"Don't you know?" Harry answered with a smile, "you gave it to me."

"I didn't realize that you still had it. Why would you keep if it doesn't work anymore?" she continued, raising her head slightly to inspect the familiar ruby. 

"It was a gift and I thought, you know, you're not supposed to throw things like that out. It would be rude wouldn't it?" he smiled and rested his head on top of hers. He could feel the rhythmic movements of her breathing. 

After a small silence, Ginny released the small amulet. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Harry." 

Harry took a deep breath, thinking about how much time he'd actually spent in the last year trying to decide just exactly what Ginny meant to him. She'd left him very hurt and confused that day in the hospital already a year ago, but seeming like just days before. "I know you are, Ginny," Harry answered kissing her lightly on her forehead. 

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. In a shaky voice she added, "don't give up on me yet."

He shook his head and held her tighter, "I never will, Ginny. I've given up on the idea of us. But I won't give up on you."

She smiled at this answer and wiped her tear stained cheeks, "It never would have worked," she admitted. 

"Maybe it would have if everything were different, if--," Harry struggled to find the words to describe how hard things had gotten but came up short. 

"I know," was all Ginny needed to say. "Tell me a very boring story, Harry. I'm so tired but I can't get back to sleep."

Harry laughed. If she wanted boring stories, Hermione could supply several that might fit her need. But, Harry tried to think, boring. He came up with something he'd been reading on the Third Goblin Rebellion of 1910. 

Ginny was soon asleep. 

Harry turned out the light and settled his head on the bedpost behind him and closed his eyes.  

***

Removing his sunglasses in spite of the glaring Paris sun, Draco stepped out of the car and surveyed the familiar street, Rue du Grand Cours. He smiled to himself remembering some bit of wisdom he'd gleaned from Hemingway:

'If you are lucky enough to have lived in Pairs as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a movable feast.'

"Dear are you going to stand there blocking my exit all day?" a voice called laughingly from behind him recalling him from his thoughts. 

"Sorry, Grandmother. I was distracted. I'm glad to be back," he explained, turning to offer the elderly, but elegantly dressed, lady a hand to assist her from the car as the driver unloaded their bags. 

More than the manor house that was his grandmother's estate on the coast in the city of Caen, Draco looked forward to visiting Paris while his grandmother stayed in town. 

It was here that Draco's favorite coffee shop sat on the corner of le boulevard du Montparnasse, his favorite bit of grass next to the pond where children sailed their toy boats was just across the street. He loved the museums, muggle mostly, and the opera. He loved visiting Paris with his grandmother and his sister. He looked forward to it every year. Only this year, Lucy was not to join them until the end of the summer. She had insisted that her physical therapy continue as planned in England under her regular doctor. She would not hear of seeing another doctor and was equally deaf to the idea of Draco staying behind with her. However much Draco disliked the idea of her nearly on her own, she assured him that her elf Portia would be enough help for her. He still felt a slight unease at the fact that she was so far from him and he could not look after her an entire country away, but when she insisted, he was never one to argue. He'd learned that it got him nowhere. 

But she would join them at the end of the summer and that had to be enough consolation for Draco to go on with at the moment. 

As they entered number twenty-three, Draco felt the growing excitement of seeing his ebony Steinway again. His grandmother had informed him on their trip to the city that she'd had it moved from the manor house in order that he may play for her on every evening. As he adored his Grandmother Bertrand and, therefore, would play for her as long has she had the patience to listen to his old Frank Sinatra tunes. 

Setting down one heavy bag in the foyer, Draco breathed in a deep breath of contentment. He felt like he'd returned home. 

Paris would always be his home. 

***

 "Ah!" Peter grinned nervously as he opened the door to admit the black clad figure whose expression was unreadable behind sunglasses, lending a mysterious air to him. Peter knew who it was, however. There was only one person who knew about his side trip to Florence. "I wasn't sure if you would take me up on the offer," he added timidly, shutting and bolting the flimsy hotel room door. 

"I'm still not sure why I did," was the cold return he got for his hospitality. 

Peter deserved that, he reckoned. "Kill'em with kindness," he said slowly taking a breath and offering his guest a seat at the table in one corner. 

The tall, dark man stared at him from behind his shades. "Aren't you going to check me for weapons?" he said betraying no emotion in his monotone voice. 

Peter shook his head as he secured one paper shade to the window, making sure no light entered the room, no prying eyes could be watching, that was important. "I figured if you'd wanted to kill me, you would have done it already. Don't forget that we go way back, you and I. I know you. You were always one to jump on your first impulse," he held up both hands and smiled. "Why else would you be here at this very moment? Curiosity got the best if you again, Sirius."

"Stop with the bullshit, Peter. I still haven't made up my mind yet. And I have my wand in case you were in doubt about that. So just give me a reason, Peter. That's all I need," Sirius continued flatly. 

Peter smiled a crooked and devilish smile. Nothing had changed. He was pleased to see Sirius Black was still the same swaggering, cocky bastard he'd been at school. Of course, the only thing that had changed was that now Peter was on the receiving end. And that was perfectly fine. He'd expected it, really. Peter had killed his friends. 

He was Judas and happy to be so. Someone had to be that guy, right? Better him than a Nobody. Those guys never got their names in the history books. 

Besides, he'd never felt like more than a drain on the three of them anyway. They weren't his real friends, they were do-gooders with too much time on their hands and he was the perfect project. Slow and incompetent, they had pointed this out to him at least three times a week. That was his part to play. 

And when the opportunity for real power had come he would take it. And he took it. No regrets there. And they hated him for it. He was never meant to be someone's lap dog and he would be damned if he had stayed and put up with their shit. All in the name of friendship, right? 

 No, he was no Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat was daft. 

He shook his head and took a seat on the opposite side of the table. 

"Please do have a seat, Sirius," he entreated, waving him to the empty chair. 

Sirius removed the shades in the dark hotel room and sat. 

"What the hell is all of this about, Peter?" Sirius asked in the same tiresome monotone. Peter was going to have some fun with him. 

"No catching up first?" he said leaning back with what he hoped was cool carelessness. "How's Harry?"

"None of your fucking business. Why did you ask me here, Peter?" Impatience and anger—that was something. So his disinterested act couldn't last forever. Mentioning Harry was a cheap shot, Peter would admit, but the expressionless superiority was growing infuriating, he always did that. He always did that when Remus had come up with another masterful plan. Sirius never wanted him in on the capers. Too clumsy, always got the group into trouble. Peter shook his head again. It was Sirius who'd always blown their cover. He just wouldn't admit it. Stubborn bastard. 

"You want to catch up, Peter? Fine," Sirius said folding his arms over his chest and affecting the casual attitude that Peter had donned. "Remus' funeral was lovely. The sun was out. There was a nice breeze. Perfect day to bury a dear friend, I wish you could have been there. You should have been there. You should have seen how many people felt the loss. You should have watched as his mother wept when they lowered her son into the ground. You should have seen how angry Arabella was when I'd told her who had killed him." His voice rose to a furious pitch. "But you weren't there, were you, Peter? You make the mess and then tuck tail and run. Let the rest of us clean it up for you. We always have."

Peter winced. 

Sirius had a way with words. Not eloquent, but with just enough loathing to reduce a grown man into an abused, homeless pup. He debated whether he should set the record straight. But then again, why would Sirius believe him. He wondered if Sirius had told Mrs. Lupin everything. Did she know that Peter had killed her son? Fuck the rest of them. He didn't care what they thought but she'd been like a mother to him. The only one he knew, really. He was sorry for that, if nothing else.

"What if I said I wanted to make it right?" he added in a defeated voice. He had given up trying to gain the advantage over Sirius. He would never win. Sirius was way too good at playing the wronged and wounded victim. Peter would play the bad guy if necessary, he always had. 

But he could make things right at the same time. 

And he would. He was determined to. 

***

"Come on Gin. It's not all that bad. I thought you were looking forward to this?" Bill called over his shoulder juggling several bags at once, a model of efficiency. Ginny shook her head, it was patronizing really. Bill had no interest in coming to Pairs. She knew he preferred London, well, if he'd had it his way he'd be back in Egypt. But here he was looking after his troublesome little sister in France. However much he didn't like the idea of it she was grateful that he was taking it so well. This could really put a cramp in his style. 

Her father had insisted that it would do her good to go to school as she'd planned. It wasn't a wholly foolish idea. It beat psychiatrists and counseling and, "how about you tell me what's really going on Miss Weasley. I can't help you if you don't first help yourself" and all that tripe. 

She really had been looking forward to the medical interning program that she'd worked so hard for the past two years to get into. It's just that she had a foreboding feeling about leaving the safety of home. Sure, she'd been here for a year already. She'd attended Beauxbatons during her fifth year of schooling to get a conversational grasp on the language and all of that. 

But she couldn't help the feeling that whatever she'd been running from wasn't left behind in England. It was ever with her. 

Lifting her head to soak in the depressing drizzle that clouded the late June sky she felt conspicuous on the street and hurried into the apartment after her brother. 


	4. All In The Grind

Disclaimer: I own the plot and Lucy. All other characters and places in the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling and associated publishers, etc. 

Author's Note: Some fun and lightheartedness. I thought you all could use a little bit of happy times before the proverbial sh**t hits the fan. Yep, I work in a coffee shop as evidenced by this chapter. I know way more than any human should know about coffee. And I hate milk. How is that for funny? The inspiration for this chapter comes from a scene in 'Black Hawk Down,' my favorite part where Ewan McGregor's character anthologizes a French Press, my favorite method of coffee preparation, actually. (I know, I know I'm sad and pathetic. You can laugh just don't point. It's rude, you know.)

Chapter Four

All in the grind

_"Its all in the grind, Sizemore. _

_It can't be too coarse, can't be too fine. _

_This, my friend, is an exact science."_

_Ewan McGregor (Grimes), _

Black Hawk Down 

            Ginny couldn't understand it. She'd been working in the quaint little coffee shop for a week. She loved the location. It was picturesque. Across from a beautiful park, she could see adorable little French children with names like Marie Laure and Jean Louis sail their equally adorable toy yachts across the pond. 

            What she despised were the customers. 

            So she didn't know all of the regulars and their drink orders by heart. That was no reason to get snippy. And nearly everyone had gotten snippy with her today. She was at the end of her patience. The worst one had just left, she noted with great relief, an old crusty American woman who ordered "the usual". After five minutes of prying out of her what "the usual" was supposed to be she served her what she had considered to be her best cappuccino she'd made since she'd taken the job there. The lady nearly splashed the scalding coffee in her face as she needlessly slammed the cup onto the counter and demanded to speak to her manager in appalling French. 

            One question, how was she supposed to guess that the lady wanted an extra dry, decaf double if the only words that had come reluctantly to her lips were, "the usual Cappuccino"? She'd been hired on as a waitress and barista, not a bloody mind reader. 

"Note to self", she muttered under her breath as the minutes ticked slowly by on the clock, "find less annoying job". 

            She looked up and smiled as Sophie came crashing through the front door. 

            "So sorry. Late. Virginie. Not mad at me, I 'ope?" Sophie asked in broken English, she appeared frazzled. Ginny didn't even have the heart to play mad. Sophie was another good part of the job. If you didn't count Bill, she would amount to all of the friends that Ginny had made in her first week in Paris. The other med students were boring and stuffy. She had no desire to know any of them better although she suspected that one nerdy German was trying to catch her eye in class. Ugh! She brushed the horrid thought to the back of her mind. She didn't fancy any German techie-geek whispering softly across a candlelit table, "I luff yoo." The thought was almost too funny. 

            " 'E 'asn't come een yet, 'as 'e?" Sophie asked brushing a stray whisp of sandy blond hair out of her face. She was a pretty French girl. They were all pretty, and graceful, and blond. She felt like the ugly stepsister surrounded by Cinderellas. 

            "Has who come in yet?" Ginny asked scrunching her nose in confusion. 

            " Ze blond," she answered, giving Ginny a look like she was supposed to know the blond in question. 

            "Sophie, there are lots of blonds," Ginny said. 

            "Oh, you would notice zees one. 'E is very gorgeous. Pain in ze ass and slightly rude, orders a latte," Sophie was becoming very spirited in her description. So she had a crush on a rude, latte drinking blond. Not bad, she could do worse it seemed. Her current one left a lot to be desired in Ginny's opinion. 

            "I haven't served anyone by that description today, Sophie. Better luck on your shift, I hope." Ginny untied her apron and headed into the back to get her bags. She would be late for class, again. 

            "Bye, Sophie," she called, grabbing her half-finished drink from behind the register and a croissant from the counter and made for the door quickly, lest she be sucked back in to work a double. Armand, sweet man but a Nazi when it came to getting all he could out of his employees. Ginny had learned in that one tiny week she'd been there that the answer "no" was her best friend. 

            "Bye, Virginie," Sophie called from behind the counter. Ginny looked back and waved. Not a good move. She'd run straight into someone, spilling her coffee all over both of them. 

            "Oh damn it! I'm so sorry, sir," Ginny began to apologize as she was surveying her clothes, passable. Anyway, she wouldn't have the chance to change before class. 

            "It's alright, luckily you managed to spill more on yourself than me. Oh hell!" He stopped and then continued in a more agitated tone, "what are you doing here?"

            Ginny's eyes shot immediately up from her sodden blouse to an unpleasant scowl. 

            Draco Malfoy.

            For some reason she had the uncharacteristic thought that it was a pity she didn't manage to spill more of her drink on him instead of herself. She wasn't usually this inclined to wish evil things upon people. He just brought it out in her, she reasoned. 

            "I work here," Ginny answered furrowing her brow and standing up straight bringing her to her full, five feet four inches. Not very intimidating, this she knew, but she had to try. 

            "No, you don't" he insisted. 

            She could hardly suppress a smile. Never had her presence agitated someone so much. She was enjoying it. Class could wait. 

            "Of course I do," she answered looking into the shop where Sophie was frantically gesturing to her, pointing at Draco. So this was her gorgeous latte drinking blond. Now she could understand the rude bit. He was the dictionary definition of the word. 

            "No, this is my coffee shop. There have never been any Weasleys here. I am sure of it. I've been coming here every summer for years." He was becoming very annoyed. If he would insist that she didn't work there than she would leave him with his pathetic illusion. She wouldn't quit for his sake though. Now she was determined to stay, just because it would irritate Draco Malfoy. She loved her job.

            She was not leaving. If he didn't like it he would have to find a new coffee shop. A latte was after all, just a latte. 

            "I could have you fired in a second's time. You are not a problem," he said standing menacingly over her. 

            She smiled calmly. Let's have some fun, shall we. The idea of it was too tempting to resist. "You don't intimidate me, Mr. Malfoy. I know your secret," she shrugged and walked to the street where she checked traffic. 

            "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Weasley?" he shouted across the sidewalk where she had her back turned to him as if he wasn't even there. Traffic cleared and she started across the street and to the park beyond. 

            "It means you talk in your sleep." She smiled to herself. It was really too easy to get him going, "Have a lovely day," she looked over her shoulder and called. He was staring in disbelief at her retreating form. If he weren't such a pain in the ass, she would have to admit to Sophie that he really was cute in a child-having-a-tantrum sort of way. 

            She laughed at the sight of him, mouth open, standing there. She tossed her croissant to the pigeons that loitered around the park bench. She had to get to class, enough fun for one day. 

***

            Hermione did what came naturally to her. She buried herself in books: books on history, charms, Transfiguration. It didn't matter, the more boring the better. That was how she forgot the terrible things she'd seen. 

            Under the pretense of getting ahead of her May deadline on her seventh year thesis for History of Magic, she could drown the recent past, the mental pictures of Ginny, wrists slashed, desperate to end her life. The Burrow had always been a sort of haven for her, she'd realized. Nothing terrible or frightening could possibly happen there, she felt safer here than anyplace else. But it seemed that even this crooked and tumbledown house she'd fallen in love with the moment she'd seen it wasn't exempt from its share of troubles. 

            Who would have guessed it was Ginny, though. She was always ebullient, bright, adored by her family. Times were indeed tough when such a child, for she was still just a child, found that death was the easiest way out. 

            She daily saw the guilt that Ron carried around. Her assurances that it was nothing to do with him had done little to help the situation. He'd even snapped at her and told her that it was none of her business. Of course it was her business. She was part of this family. They'd accepted her with open arms. Their trials were her trials, for she loved every one of them. It had hurt her to hear Ron say that. She'd always considered him to be the biggest part of her life and yet he wouldn't let her in, wouldn't let her help him when he was hurting so. And he was hurting, Hermione saw it every time she looked at him and it hurt her too. 

            She shook her head. She wouldn't give up on him. She couldn't. 

            Picking up her quill, she began jotting notes down as she flipped through an old manuscript regarding the founders of Hogwarts. She'd had no idea how sordid the lives of these people had been. 

            She stopped and stared at the page in front of her. "Individual accounts of these founding four have been allegedly written by their own hand documenting the true events of the school's founding and the subsequent rift that occurred in their beliefs that led to the famous battle at Loch Muriadoch. To this date, these so called first hand accounts have not been recovered. Several fabrications do exist and are housed in the British Museum, Wizard History Division where they have been scrutinized and studied for centuries. It is highly debated that such first hand reports have ever existed."

            This seemed curious to Hermione. Being a thorough researcher as she was, she made a note in the margin, "British Museum, fab. First hand rept." She would check these out later. If they weren't entirely legit, they wouldn't be housed in the Museum. They had to have some shred of credibility. 

            She sighed and continued. Tedious work, yes, but time consuming. Still it was better than being left with one's own thoughts to torture them. 

***

            "You can't make this right, Peter. People have died because of you. Can you bring them back?" Sirius continued incredulously, "Can you bring James and Lily back, and Remus? You can't undo what you've done."

            Peter got up from his chair and headed to the shuttered window, opening it a crack. It was damned hot in there. 

            "Why Florence?" Sirius began a new thought. One that had been nagging at him since he'd received Peter's letter three days ago. 

            "I was already in the area," Peter answered dismissively. Sirius made a mental note to find out what was in the area that would interest or give him reason to come all the way down here. Perhaps he was on an errand for his master. Sirius would find out. If there was one thing he was good at it was detective work. 

            He was about to prod his jittery companion for more details, after all he had wanted to make things right. But a sudden motion from Peter made Sirius eye him suspiciously. He quickly shut the blinds and shuttered the window again and became exceedingly nervous. Sirius watched him as he withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket and scribbled a line or two on it. Sirius got to his feet and just managed, "No. Peter wait," before Peter produced his wand and Apparated from the hotel room. 

            Sirius swore loudly and then went to the table where he picked up the scrap of paper that read "I'll be in touch and I will make things right."

            Sirius swore again before crumpling the paper into a furious little ball and threw it against the thin wall of the hotel room. 

***

            _It was always the same dream, different on every occasion but the same in feeling and with the same result. Ginny found herself in a forest, dark and misty, she could scarcely see two feet in front of her. A sense of unease was growing in her. She'd been here before. _

_            Her eyes widened and her heart raced furiously as she heard a twig snap just ahead of her, signifying that she was not alone in the dense and chilly wood.  _

_            She approached cautiously and pressed herself to a nearby yew, peeking around its berth to get a better glimpse of the two forms in the clearing. She recognized both men immediately. _

_            Her breath caught unconsciously in her chest as she listened. _

_            Through the fog she discerned the tall and slim figure of a man in his late thirties, she guessed. He was elegantly dressed in a black cloak, gray sweater and black leather boots. He had dark hair to match. Ginny watched the cloaked man produce a wand from which came a blue light at the command, "Lumos."_

_            Washing the surrounding area in a blue glow, the light made Ginny back away for fear that she might be noticed. She stepped on a twig, which cracked loudly. She halted and shut her eyes tight. They were sure to have heard that. _

_            They hadn't though. _

_            Ginny opened her eyes._

_            "Have you got it?" the dark cloaked man asked in a smooth but impatient voice. His eyes glinted with longing and deep admiration as the second man nodded and produced a small, shallow dish. Ginny could just make out the amber hued eyes as they fell on the dish. She'd seen those eyes nearly every night for the last five years. _

_            They were Tom's eyes and they never stopped watching her. _

_            The man he was talking to was Wormtail. Ginny recognized him from when she was held in Azkaban. It was the same nervous, twitchy man. _

_            Despite her conscious effort to remain rooted to the spot and undetected, her feet moved forward until she was standing merely inches from Wormtail. She held her breath. Surely she was visible to Tom. She was facing him, right behind Wormtail who held out the article that he'd been waiting there for. But he looked right past her. He hadn't seen her though she was in plain view. She didn't exist. She was merely and onlooker to this horrible scene. _

_            She took advantage of it even though she wanted nothing more than to be safe at home, in the Burrow. Her common sense was screaming out to her, get a good look at that basin. It must be important if he is so pleased to see it. She leaned over Wormtail's shoulder and surveyed the shallow golden cup. There were runes etched along the lip in a continuous band. Ginny cursed to herself. If only she knew how to read them. Maybe she could remember what they looked like and then draw them for Hermione. _

_            No, she thought a second later, Hermione would ask questions and then Ginny would have to explain everything. It would sound like crazy talk from a crazy girl who tries to off herself every now and again. _

_            "You look well, Master," Ginny heard Wormtail simper as he handed the stunning cup over._

_            Tom smiled._

_            "Yes, thank you. Say, that reminds me, how is my precious Miss Weasley? Adjusting to life in Paris?"_

_            "We've located her easily enough. Everyone leaves a trail when they're unaware that they're being followed," Wormtail answered. _

_            "There will be nothing else, Wormtail. Thank you."_

_            Tom immediately transformed into the scaly, snake-like, dreadful figure of Voldermort and then vanished moments later. _

            Ginny bolted into an upright position and screamed. He couldn't know where she was. Her heart rate slowed as she found herself in the increasingly familiar room she'd been sleeping in for nearly a week. Every night found her in this distraught position. She trembled and hugged her arms around her. It was a dream she reminded herself. It was not helping. Another night wasted. How was she going to make it through class in the morning on less than two hours' sleep?

            "Ginny?" she heard Bill call from the other side of her door. She placed her head on her knees and swore softly. She'd screamed again and woken Bill. He must be getting tired of all of this. 

            "Come in," she answered wearily. 

            Bill entered the dark room and found her sitting on her bed banging her head on her knees lightly. She looked up and apologized sheepishly. 

            "Want me to make us some tea?" he asked with and understanding smile. 

            Ginny nodded her head gratefully. 

***

            That afternoon found Ginny, zombie-like and shadowed under her eyes trying to work through a line of customers as her energy was fast leaving her. Fifteen minutes to go, she reminded herself. Fifteen minutes left on her shift and then she would go home and crash until tomorrow morning. Never mind that it was only three in the afternoon. She felt like she could sleep longer than that easily. 

            As the end of her line left with a croissant and a tea, she folded her arms, groaned and let her lead fall with a thud on the counter. 

            "Where is Sophie?" she asked a little too loudly. She never expected that someone would answer her. She was alone in the shop. Or at least she thought she was. 

            "I don't know where Sophie is but you look like hell."

            Her head shot up from its resting place on the counter so fast that Ginny had to close her eyes and pause from the dizziness. When she'd refocused she was met with the amused sneer of Draco Malfoy. 

            "Oh," she said, using as much distain as she could muster under the circumstances, "can't we banter some other time. I really don't have the energy today. What are you having?" 

            "Nothing if you're making it. You'd probably spit in it just for fun," he said. He looked serious. Ginny just shook her head. Of course she wouldn't. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. "Party too hard last night? Those circles don't do a thing for you."

            Ginny didn't even reply. To conserve as much energy as possible to drag her ass home, she simply raised her middle finger in the universal sign for "sod off". 

            "Okay, so I can expect no worth while conversation today. I get the point. One question, though," he hesitated making sure he had her attention.

            "What's that?" Ginny replied in a bored tone, laying her head back on the counter. Rude or not, she would doze regardless of what he wanted to ask her. 

            "It was in the infirmary, wasn't it?" he asked. 

            "What was in the infirmary?" Ginny replied. Her voice was muffled through her arms as she cushioned her head and closed her eyes. 

            "You said I talked in my sleep. It was in the infirmary, right? It was you that looked after me." Draco continued slowly. 

            How offensive, Ginny thought. He was talking to her as if she was slow. 

            She was tired, not daft. 

            "Your point? I'm off in five," she said standing up and stretching, removing her apron. 

            "I want to know what it is I said."

            "Oh," Ginny said, "I don't remember," anything to end this conversation quicker. 

            "What a load of--," Draco began. Ginny cut him off. Throwing her apron behind the counter she shouted over her shoulder, "Language, Mr. Malfoy," as she headed into the back room for her bag. She was unsurprised to find him waiting for her to return. Persistent. 

            Sophie rushed in nearly knocking her over as she hurried past muttering an apology in French. 

            "It was nothing, really. I was just pushing your buttons. You're mean, do you know that?" She stopped and turned as he followed behind her. He stopped just before slamming into her. She was grateful that he had fast reflexes. Quidditch probably, she thought. 

            "Of course," he answered with a shrug. 

            Ginny fought a smile. No smiling around Draco Malfoy. His conceitedness was not charming. Not in the least. 

            "Where are you headed?" He asked, smiling. She crumbled. Note to self: work on coldhearted bitch, a bit sloppy. 

            "Home, actually." She smiled back. 

            "Would you like company?"

            How cute. Don't fall for it. 

            "Sure. You can drag me to my door if I fall asleep on the way."

            Damn it! You are weak, Virginia Weasley! One charming smile and you go soft. 

            He smiled again. Ginny wished he would stop. She was more comfortable around Malfoy the bullying prat. This was new. She didn't know how to react. 

            Curiosity nagged at the back of her mind as they walked down the street. They'd talked mostly about her; med school, the coffee shop. But she desperately wanted to know why he frequented her coffee shop in muggle Paris. 

            "Forgive me if this is a rude question at all, but," she hesitated. 

            "Go on. I love rude questions," Draco reassured her with a smile. 

            "What are you doing here?"

            "Where? You mean what am I doing right here, this very moment? Why I am walking down a street on a fine afternoon--," he began sarcastically. 

            Ginny laughed and shook her head. "Don't be an idiot. I meant muggle Paris. Don't you prefer segregation and all that?" She hadn't meant to sound as if she were judging him, she almost regretted saying it. It was very impertinent of her. 

            If he was offended, he did a very good job of hiding it. "I'm visiting my grandmother for the summer. She has a house in Paris and is actually of mixed blood herself." He said this as if he anticipated Ginny's surprise. She was indeed very surprised. She would never have guessed. In the next second, she scolded herself for jumping to conclusions about him. She'd never been one to believe all of the stories Ron had told her regarding him. She always believed in the benefit of the doubt and all of that. Draco definitely deserved that. Look at what she'd discovered through mere conversation with him. He was actually not such a horrid person, really. 

            "Well, this is me," Ginny said, stifling a yawn and pointing to a green door of an apartment building on Rue de la Huchette. "Thanks for the company." She mentally berated herself. Not too nice, Ginny. He is still Draco Malfoy, after all. 

            "It was a pleasure. Get some sleep, why don't you. You look like the waking dead." He smiled slyly. 

            "See, proof that Malfoy is and will always be a wanker," Ron's voice sounded in her head. Ginny pushed the thought away. He was very polite about it. She did really look like hell. 

            He wasn't a wanker at all.

            "So what was it that I said? Aren't you going to tell me? I was agreeable and everything. Do you know how hard it is for me to be agreeable? I want to know what this secret is." She could barely hold in a laugh as she unlocked the door. He looked pathetically up at her as she went inside. Before shutting the door she offered, "Its your secret after all. You should know what it is."

            "Yes, but I have many. Which one do you know?" he was growing frustrated. She knew his act would not last forever. He would never change. 

            "Have a lovely afternoon, Draco," Ginny smile and closed the door behind her. She just couldn't resist setting him off. It was the best fun she'd ever had. 

            He would never change, but then again, Ginny didn't want him to. He was far more fun when he was indignant and rude. 


	5. A Museum Caper

 Disclaimer: All characters and places of the Harry Potter series belong to Rowling. Lucy and Sophie are my characters. More may appear later in this story as they are needed. 

Author's Note: Just a little more fun, but for the sake of progress I have to slip some plot in here and there. I hope my readers are enjoying this. If you are, please review. I love to hear from my readers. 

Chapter Five 

A Museum Caper

_"If I fall along the way_

_pick me up and dust me off_

_and if I get too tired to make it_

_be my breath so I can walk."_

_Matchbox Twenty: 'Bent'_

            Harry stepped out of the dark and smoky pub and onto the wizard street of Diagon Alley. He normally loved visiting the many shops around the bustling thoroughfare but he was still distracted. 

            Ginny had been gone for a month now and he was hoping that she was all right so far from home. Whatever it was that upset her so much, he hoped she had left it behind and was enjoying Paris. He knew she loved the city and was excited to be going to school there, but he missed her and worried about her constantly. 

            A voice sounded above the din of the crowded street as it shouted his name. He knew who it was. Anni. He was meeting her there for lunch today. Next week she was leaving for New York City. She'd written him several months ago excitedly informing him in her barely legible handwriting that she'd been accepted to a very prestigious Art History school there. She was adamant that NYU offered the best study for her interests even though her parents forbid her to go so far. In the very style that characterized his cousin, she smiled and told them both that she was leaving anyway and there was nothing they could do that would stop her. On a full scholarship, even financial support couldn't be held over her as an incentive to stay put. She was eighteen and she would do as she pleased. Harry knew her all too well. 

            He smiled and walked toward the frantically waving girl. She knew how to draw attention to herself, very un-Dursley-like. She'd never fit into that family, even though she was half-Dursley herself. Harry stopped in surprise midway across the street at the sight of her. She'd chopped all of her curls off. Her hair was spiked with bleached tips. She still looked beautiful and her sapphire eyes glowed with pleasure as she ran the rest of the distance to meet him. Harry had to laugh. Uncle Vernon would surely have a heart attack if he'd seen what his niece had done to herself. He had a term for people who had hair like that, free-loading-drain-on-honest-taxpayers. He'd pointed out leather jacket, combat boot wearing young people like that all the time and used that term on them. He'd usually received the finger for all of his trouble. Harry couldn't fight the image. He would always cherish memories like that one. Other than that, his former family hardly entered his mind. 

            "It's good to see you again too, Anni," Harry barely managed as Anni seemed to squeeze the breath out of him. To his great displeasure she was still a good three inches taller than him. 

            "I have the best news to tell you," she smiled from ear to ear. Harry could tell that she was having trouble containing her excitement. 

            "What is it then, Uncle Vernon disown you on account of your hair?"

            She ran an unconscious hand through her brunette and bleached spikes and shook her head. "George asked me to marry him!" She nearly screamed, causing Harry to step back as she jumped excitedly. He'd never gotten used to her erratic behavior but tried his hardest to take it all in stride. 

            "Congratulations, I guess," Harry smiled, but he couldn't get worked up enough to share her excitement. He'd had little to be excited over in the past year and a half. "Where's George anyway?"

            Anni's shoulders slumped and her smile fell. "Harry I thought you would be happy for us. I thought you liked George."

            "It's not that, Anni. I'm happy for you both. I really am," Harry began to explain. 

            "Let's talk in the restaurant, people are starting to stare at me," Anni said pulling him to a small café on the corner. Harry knew she was not self-conscious and he knew she didn't care if people were staring at her. She wanted to talk to him. She knew when he was bothered by something. Harry doubted she could help but he never left her in the dark. There was nothing he could keep from her. 

***

            "Where were you? I've got the investors all breathing down my neck and nothing to tell them. What's the status? Tell me you've got something. I need to tell them something," Corbin asked from behind a stack of papers that hid his face. 

            How had he known that it was Sirius who'd walked through the door? Sirius stopped and said nothing. The little man peeked around the stack in front of him and smiled. "I knew it was you. You should think about wearing different shoes, you know? I could tell it was you coming a kilometer away. Those biker boots of yours give you away every time."

            Arabella walked in and threw a copy of the Daily Prophet down on her desk, slamming a half-full coffee cup down with the other hand. It clanked on the table and both men stopped to stare at her. 

            "Something wrong, Figg?" Corbin asked sarcastically. There was always something wrong with Figg. Today, apparently the Prophet had hacked her off. 

            "I've got to get someone in there. There's an inside man in that place putting a spin on every story even remotely related to dark activity. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if half the reporters in that place had a mark on their arm." She stopped. Passing a hand wearily over her eyes. "No offense meant, Severus," she called as an afterthought. A distracted voice called back from an adjacent room, "None taken."

            "Has he had any contact with Dumbledore?" Sirius looked around the corner cautiously. He wasn't sure if he could be heard and he never addressed himself to Severus personally. Like the child that he admittedly was, he used Arabella as a go-between. 

            "No, I haven't heard a thing," came the voice again before Arabella had the chance to answer. He sounded irritated and Sirius left it at that. He'd taken Dumbledore very seriously when he'd asked that they put aside past differences. The alliance would need both of them. They still couldn't hold decent conversation with each other and rarely were they ever in the same room. 

            That was how Sirius liked things. He knew Severus was talented in his field and had access to areas and information regarding Voldemort and his followers that none of the rest of them could hope to gain and he was loyal, loyal to Dumbledore. That was all Sirius needed to form a trust in him, whether Severus had done them same and put things aside for the time being, he could not be sure. Severus betrayed nothing. Sirius was certain that he would not trust him, however. Given the chance, he wouldn't be surprised if Severus handed him over to the Dementors. He'd tried it once. But, then again, Sirius had nearly killed him once as well. 

            "Can I have a private word, Arabella," Sirius asked, pulling her into a back room. 

            He shut the door behind her and turned, his face was an unreadable mask. 

            "What's going on, Sirius?" she said, it was evident that she was nervous about his urgency and secrecy. She unconsciously toyed with the napkin that she'd been employing previously in mopping up her spilled coffee.  

            "I've spoken with Peter," he said slowly, watching her expression go from nervous to wide-eyed with curiosity. 

            "And?"

***

            Ginny felt almost frivolous spending an entire day doing absolutely as she pleased. The first day off in more than a month, no school, no work, just time. She had an entire twenty-four hours to dispose of, well, thirteen hours really. She'd slept until eleven to make up for another night's fitful tossing. But she felt rested now. 

            She walked slowly down the pristine marble floors in awe of the remarkable works accumulated from centuries past that called out to her to take a moment and appreciate them from a closer vantage point. It was impossible to pay this compliment to every exhibit the Louvre housed, there were simply too many. 

            Ginny reminded herself that she would have to come back on her next day off to catch the things she would miss on this first visit. It was all so amazing. 

            She was so distracted by it all that she'd run into several tourists and had forgotten which wing she was actually standing in at the moment. 

            Her breath caught in her chest as she saw it. It was the same as in her dream. A feeling of dread came over her. It was marked on a white tag as:

Antoine le Moiturier 

_Tomb of Philip Pot _

_Painted Stone, 1330_

            Ginny had to shake her head at this. If no one wanted it found, she guessed the safest place would be miss-marked in a gigantic muggle museum. And Ginny knew that this funerary monument housed a very important artifact. Not important to muggles and probably not very important to most normal wizards, but it was important to her. She wasn't standing here staring at the ancient funerary monument of Mungo Hufflepuff out of mere coincidence. She was sure it was the same one she'd seen in several dreams. It had the same knight lying carved out in stone on the lid, Mungo the Saint decked out in full black and gold funerary regalia. The lion at the foot of the departed saint was the blessing of his faithful friend, Gryffindor. 

            Ginny walked closer to examine the individual faces of the eight hooded figures, mourners, who supported the casket and bore it to its final resting place. Each figure carried a shield that signified their respective battalion. They were all soldiers, some with the Gryffindor red and gold shield, others with the Ravenclaw blue and bronze. There was no evidence of silver and green, but then again, Ginny thought, there wouldn't be, would there?

            She knew the drill. The dream had been explicit. She had to get to the sarcophagus that was roped off. There would be a shallow basin under Mungo's folded hands. It would be small and pewter. Nothing as grand as the one she'd seen Wormtail with in the forest. This one had belonged to Mungo's mother, Helga. 

            Ginny watched the corridor. No security personnel. Two cameras, one in each corner of the hall, lots of people though, Ginny noticed frantically scrambling for an idea to inspire her. She didn't even know it the basin would still be there after all this time. She prayed that it was. She knew none of the details but she remembered a recent dream in which it was impressed upon her the importance of recovering this precious object first before the wrong people became aware of its purpose. 

            It came to her in that moment. 

            She ran for the bathrooms praying silently that she'd brought her wand with her. 

            Closing herself into a stall, Ginny searched quickly through her bag. She found it. 

***

            "And what?" Sirius said sitting down. He barely took a breath during the ten minutes he took to explain the entire meeting with Arabella.

            "And," she said, pushing herself away from the door she'd been using as support throughout the recounting of the events in Italy, "What did you do, Sirius? Did you follow him, kill him, find out what had brought him to Florence in the first place? I know you didn't just come back to tell me he sends his best wishes." Her eyes were wide and her cheeks were as dark red as her spiky hair. She looked aggravated. She always did, especially when it came to important things. 

            He smiled. "You know me so well. I neither followed him nor killed him, but I did find out why he'd been in Florence, or rather Ravenna. Through several different channels I was able to track his activity. An elderly man there told me that he'd seen a person of Peter's exact description meeting a hooded figure just outside of an entrance to the catacombs there. I couldn't get much more out of the man. He seemed pretty spooked by the hooded figure and well, you know muggles." Arabella nodded taking all of this in. 

            "I'll run a search on Ravenna and possible connections Voldemort might have with the catacombs there. That's mostly early Christian burial, correct?" She asked as she opened the door. Sirius shook his head. 

            "I think so. I mean, I always slept through history." He smiled as Arabella tutted. He'd never met a bigger fan of muggle history than her, well her and Remus, of course. 

            "Hey, Arabella?" Sirius stopped her retreat. She came back through the door. 

            "Are you okay with all of this?" he asked her tentatively. 

            "Absolutely," she said with none of the confidence that usually went with that statement, "When I asked not to be involved with the hunt for Peter, well, you know. That was before he murdered Remus. I'll do anything to stop this, even if that means bringing Peter down with the rest of the horrid lot of them." She smiled weakly and Sirius was left with the very strong doubt that Peter wanted to help them to bring down Voldemort and his other more powerful cohorts without major concessions on their part, concessions, which they were not willing, nor were they in any position to offer him.

            He would play this situation by ear.       

            But first he needed to know that Arabella would back him up. Then he would take it to Dumbledore. 

***

            "How's Ginny doing?" Anni asked, as their food was set in front of them and the waiter left. "That's why you're in such a mood, isn't it?" She raised her eyebrows knowingly. 

            "She's all right, I guess. I kind of thought that we would hear from her but she hasn't written, she's been gone for a month," Harry admitted. 

            "It really shook you, didn't it?" Anni continued, smiling comfortingly. "So what does that mean? Do you fancy her?" 

            Harry rolled his eyes and dug around on his plate with his fork. He knew he was killing her excitement, with the engagement and all but it wasn't fair to drag all of this out. It was bad enough that he'd had the same talk with Hermione. Why was it so inconceivable to everyone that the two of them where just friends? He honestly didn't see why they had all jumped to the same conclusions. 

            Yes, he was bothered by the fact that she'd tried to kill herself, but it wasn't because he was _in_ love with her, it was because he loved her, simple as that. He would have been just as devastated had it been Hermione or Ron in that situation. But with Ginny it was just a little different. Hermione and Ron had been through enough trying situations with Harry that he had no doubts that they could handle themselves. Ginny seemed a hopeless case, desperate beyond reason, he didn't understand the way her mind worked and couldn't anticipate her erratic behavior. It scared him a bit. 

            It was as if they were all just waiting for her to one day succeed, nothing they can do for her. He'd spent so much energy and worry on her. He would do anything to save her from the smallest amount of pain. He would die without a second thought if he knew it would save her. Yet he couldn't be sure that any sacrifice on his part would help her in the slightest. And for the rest of the world that translated somehow into a shallow sort of puppy love that everyone associated with the two of them. It was well meaning, no doubt, but at the same time insulting. Ginny meant everything to him, but not in that way. 

            He couldn't explain it to Anni. She saw everything through rose-colored glasses at the moment. He would sound like a hopeless romantic no matter which way he'd told the story. 

            "I love her, yes. She's a big part of what little family I have left and I almost lost her, and not for the first time, either," Harry answered in a stoic tone. 

            Anni blinked at his clipped and frustrated answer. "I'm sorry. I should just pretend that this moping about and starving yourself is normal behavior, right?"

            "I'm not starving myself," Harry answered a bit annoyed at Anni's harsh but candid and truthful scolding. 

            "Oh and your not just playing with your food now? Harry, grow up. You can't fix her problems for her but it sure as hell won't do her any good to see what kind of an effect this has on you. You think she enjoys all of the guilt and suffering she's brought on her family and friends? Let her get her shit together and you sort out your own. And don't piss off your cousin in a public place where she's prone to yell and scream and carry on in front of all of these people." She stared around at the wide-eyed expressions of the diners around her. "What are you staring at?" she shouted at an elderly witch and wizard. 

            Harry stared at her immovable. He'd expected this when she'd started in on him. It took her less time to silence the room this time than it normally did. 

            "Are you finished yet?" he asked her calmly. 

            "No," she shouted at him and then calmed slightly, feeling very foolish at her outburst, "If you want to be a good friend, don't play this guilt trip on her. It's okay to worry, Harry, but don't torture yourself. It will only torture her to see how it hurts you. When she figures things out, I'm sure she'll let you in. You may not understand her now, but she's got to have some reason for all of this, even though she may not know exactly what it is at the moment. Just be patient and wait for her to come to you if it's all over her head."

             That last bit of advice rang familiar for Harry. He'd remembered Lucy saying the same thing. However, it had been somewhat gentler than Anni's preferred yelling until it sinks in method. He did realize how his behavior must grate on everyone else's nerves, even if Anni was the only one bold enough to point it out to him. She had a point and his self-destructive attitude would get him nowhere and most likely do more harm than good. 

            "I'm sorry for spoiling such a special day for you," Harry said sheepishly as they made their way from the café amid curious stares. "You're right, you know. I'm doing no one any favors by acting like this. I just feel sort of responsible for her and for what she's going through right now."

            "I know it's hard to deal with but you've got to be the strong one. Ginny can't be right now. That would be the best way to help her and you're a good friend, Harry. I know you only want for her to get better, back to normal and all that. But, like I tell George all the time, as much as you want to fix things for her, she needs to figure it out on her own. I hoped I helped in some small way." She smiled. Harry knew that she had. 

            "How is George taking your leaving?" Harry asked. A change of subject was in order right about now. He wanted no more lectures, he promised to stop acting like a child. 

            "He hates it. But that's just tough. I'm going," she unconsciously glanced at the storefront behind her, Fred and George's Diagon Alley location. They'd actually turned out to be pretty gifted entrepreneurs. "I'm going to miss you, Harry," she said, turning her attention back to him and enveloping him in a rough hug, "what am I going to do without you," she said in a mock crying tone. She was never serious when the occasion called for it. 

            "You'll probably find someone else to yell at in a crowded restaurant," Harry answered in what he hoped was a dejected tone. It produced its intended effect. 

            "Don't pretend to be wounded. You got some good advice in there. I only hope you're smart enough to follow it." She thankfully released him and kissed him finally on the forehead. 

            "Be careful in New York. Don't go into Central Park at night and all of that," Harry said in a bored tone. 

            "You sound like my father," she smiled as Harry winced. It wasn't a compliment. 

            "Look me up if you're in the area," she said with a wink and turned toward the shop. Harry watched her leave, thankful to see her go and missing her all the same. Anni was a never-ending conundrum. How was it that George didn't find her entirely exhausting?

***

            "Oh come on, Gin!" she whispered to herself, "concentrate!"

            She muttered the incantation one last time and with surprise she went immediately invisible. Temporary Invisibility Charms were just that, temporary. She'd have to work fast. 

            With some fancy footwork and several close calls, she successfully maneuvered through the crowds to the hallway that held the sarcophagus. This would take some finesse. 

            No one seemed to be paying much attention to an insignificant funerary monument. It wasn't as if she was trying to lift the Mona Lisa off the wall in front of hundreds on onlookers, but still she had to be careful. 

            Still no security had come down the hall and she doubted whether the surveillance cameras were directed exactly at that one artifact. She expertly dodged the ropes that marked the perimeter of the sarcophagus. This was going to be simple, Ginny reassured herself. 

            She used one of the knight/pall bearers for a leg up and perched herself lightly on Mungo's legs. She mouthed a slight apology to the stone-faced man for impeding so on his personal space. But she was on a mission. 

            Bending closer, she saw the crease on his folded hands but could not make out how it should open. Was there a trick to it? She was searching frantically. She supposed she had about twenty minutes to figure this out before she became visible again and was subsequently escorted out in cuffs. 

            Damn, she thought, cursing a group of schoolchildren as they stopped in front of that very monument. She didn't dare move, she was invisible yes, but not infallible. They could still hear her every move and the monument was still visible, it wouldn't do to frighten a group of school children away with some mysterious tapping coming from a centuries old coffin, now would it?

            She breathed a sigh of relief as the noisy children left and laid her head momentarily on Mungo's folded hands. She was not cut out for this secret sort of spy work, breaking into famous museums and all of that. She was no Bond Girl. 

            She heard a click as ancient metal rubbed against stone. Her forehead had pressed some sort of lock on his hand. "Oh, how very clever," she whispered to herself. It was a very tiny lock disguised as a ring on his index finger. His hands folded out eerily revealing a beautiful but tiny chalice in meticulously worked pewter. She had seen it before in her dreams. Seeing it again and in person brought on the most uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu. She took the cup and snapped the lock shut. Mungo's hands returned to their prayerful attitude and Ginny leapt down from the stone casket hurriedly. She'd lost count of the minutes but knew she didn't have many left. 

            She made it to the bathroom where she'd stowed her bag behind the toilet of the last stall. Shoving the chalice into her bag and zipping it tightly she hoisted it onto her shoulders with care. After all it housed a cup thousands of years old and possibly a key to a very important future event. 

            Ginny looked down at her hands and watched as they slowly became flesh colored and life-like in front of her. 

            She'd pulled it off without a hitch. The museum was sure not to have noticed. She wasn't even certain that they were aware of the sarcophagus' full function in hiding that cup, as it was miss-labeled and everything. 

            The Ministry probably wouldn't even kick up a fuss at a minor using magic either. Did they even watch for things like that in foreign countries? 

            Ginny highly doubted it. 

            She rushed from the museum and to the nearest Metro tunnel. She had to get home where she could get a closer look at this thing.


	6. Reading Between The Runes

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and a few minor and major original characters. Harry and his world belong to Rowling and other subsequent entities. No infringement was intended in the creation of this series. It is all in good fun. 

Author's Note: Diving right into the plot, because I have a feeling that this story, unlike its prequel, will be involved and, I fear, longer than I had originally intended. There will be a bit more fun in chapters to come and before the heads begin to roll. (He he he! I sound just like the Queen of Hearts in Alice and Wonderland. "Off with her head!") Well, I think this story in particular has spurned a spin off story that I intend to delve into upon the completion of this series. Yes, there is one more story in the trilogy of Harry's last years at school, so please stay tuned and who knows, more after that? We shall see. 

Chapter Six

Reading between the runes

_"Destiny is an invention of the weak and the resigned."_

Anonymous 

            Ginny sat in her spot, her thinking spot. Like Pooh Bear on his log in the Hundred Acre Woods she sat, pushing herself to think, think, think. 

            Her attention was easily diverted as it had been since she'd taken the intricately sculpted pewter chalice from Mungo's funerary sarcophagus a week earlier. It lay hidden in the bottom of her bag that was securely locked in her room at the top of the landing in the Burrow. 

            She'd been home for three days and each day found her here under her oak by the frog pond trying to find a way into that cup, a clue, a message. She hated to admit it, but she needed Hermione's help to crack this one. But the tricky part was how much to tell her. Ginny needed the runic symbols around the base of the cup translated and Hermione was her best and most discreet bet. 

            Time was ticking away. Ginny knew this all too well. She would be bound for France again in less than two days and if she were going to corner Hermione and wrangle a translation from her, she needed to do it now. 

She was only back home for five days to see her mum who'd returned a few days earlier from the lake country. She'd had a rather unpleasant talking to about the whole wrist-slashing ordeal. Ginny, although by no means cured of her imaginings and nightmares, had gained a sort of resignation about the whole thing. She would not try to end her life again, at least not in the immediate future, anyway. If the time came when her last option was death, than death it would be, but not by the hand of her enemy. She would die in her own time, but not before cracking this thing. While she was still around she might as well put a spoke in Tom's wheel. 

            He'd already found her. That was clear from her earlier dreams, but she would not wait around idly for his strike. She wanted to find out what he was up to and maybe head him off before he'd had the chance to use her. 

            This cup was meant to be in her possession, though. She felt it with every fiber of her being. She only wished that she knew what she needed to do to use it. It was calling to her, telling her that this was the only way to stop him. She felt empowered by its very presence. 

            She got to her feet. She should talk to Hermione before dinner. The sun was already climbing in the summer sky. So what if Hermione thought her a wacko with this whole story of stealing, museum capering and indistinguishable runes. She knew Hermione was no snitch and would not betray her confidence and what's more, she'd already seen Ginny try to top herself once, she might already consider her a wacko without the clandestine French Connection story.  

***

            Smooth ebony, curves and lines, ivory keys and black as well, all moving together in time to create something magnificent. Bach's Chaconne from Partita in D Minor—now that was music. 

            He'd lost himself and the frustrated thoughts that had been chasing him all morning around measure forty-eight, or was if fifty? He'd lost count anyway. There was no sheet music in front of him. He knew this one by heart. 

            A smile lit his face as a cello picked up the melody behind him. It reminded him of the way his mother used to play, that was the same exact instrument in fact. But now it belonged to Lucy. 

            As they finished the piece, Draco turned and swung his legs over the other side of the bench. "I didn't hear you come in. How long have you been here?" 

            "Not long. I heard you playing our song without me and I threw my bags on the stairs to join you," she smiled and wheeled to where her brother sat, kissing his cheek she continued, "How has Pairs been? What have I missed?"

            "Nothing really. I haven't really gone anywhere worth mentioning and the opera is our thing. I couldn't go without you. But, I have to tell you that due to your late arrival, we have missed 'The Tales of Hoffman'."

            "No!" Lucy answered with disappointment. 

            "How has therapy been?" Draco asked, changing the subject. He would see if he could manage a trip to Vienna next week. He was sure that they could catch her favorite opera there, or perhaps Berlin. 

            "Oh, you know. It was bearable. I doubt that it makes a difference, but I go for father's sake. He seems to think that there's a chance this can all be reversed." She made a sweeping gesture with one hand, indicating her wheelchair. 

            Draco felt angry at the mention of his father and his pushing this therapy on her when she felt it was hopeless. He knew it was hopeless as well. He didn't let her see how angry it had made him, though. She wanted to forget the whole thing and go on living as normally as possible. She never understood that when it came to their family, normal would never be welcomed. 

He knew she was an angel. Forgiving and forgetting came naturally to her, but Draco never found things that easy. No one laid a hand on his sister who didn't eventually pay for that mistake. The debt remained outstanding still, but one day that would change. Draco would see to it. 

***

            Hermione jostled the doorknob in her hand and then stomped a foot on the landing. "Why would she lock it?" she whispered to herself. She knocked again, but knew there would be no answer. Ginny wasn't in there, Hermione was sure that she'd seen her out in the garden just minutes ago. 

            "What are you looking for, Hermione?" came Ginny's voice from the bottom of the stairs. 

            "Why is the door locked? I need to get to my things as well," Hermione placed a hand on her hip, hoping to look indignant and put out. 

            Ginny's eyes lit with realization. "Oh, I'd forgotten entirely. Sorry Hermione!" 

            Ginny produced a key and unlocked the door hurriedly, pulling Hermione in behind her and locking the door again. 

            Hermione's eyes were wide with surprise. What was Ginny up to?

            "I guess it's a force of habit. You know, six brothers and all. I have something in here that I didn't want anyone to find."

            "Well, you leave your computer in here and never lock the door," Hermione argued rationally, still not convinced that it wasn't to keep her out. 

            Ginny waved away the suggestion with one distracted, "Oh well I have encryption software that does a better job than any lock could. They wouldn't even know how to turn it on anyway."

            Hermione became distracted as well, sitting on the end of the bed she watched Ginny riffle quickly through her bag and produce a dull, metallic colored cup. It looked ancient. Hermione shrugged as Ginny held it up to her. Was she supposed to automatically know what that was supposed to be?

            "I found it at the museum. It was part of a funerary sarcophagus. Long story," she shook her head as Hermione began to say something, "anyway all I need for you to do just to tell me-." Hermione was not even going to consider what it was that Ginny wanted yet. She wanted to clarify that last bit. 

            "You found it? You mean you stole it? Do I even want to know which museum, Ginny?" She raised her eyebrows. She knew how condescending it must appear to Ginny, but she didn't care. Ginny was the last person she would have suspected of being capable of grand theft. What surprised her the most was that Ginny didn't even seem to register that there was a problem with it. 

            "It was the Louvre if you must know. But I don't see how that makes a difference. Anyway, like I said, I found it. They didn't' even know it was there. But for some reason that I cannot explain, I knew it was there before I even saw it. It was hidden inside the hands of the knight on the outside. But what I need from you is a translation. I need to know what these runes mean." She stopped and handed the cup to Hermione, breathless from the explanation.  

            Hermione reluctantly took it and surveyed the base that was richly carved in ornate symbols. She breathed a heavy sigh. This might take a while. This was pretty archaic, even for runes. 

            "Hand me that book there," she commanded of Ginny, pointing to a think, leather bound one on the top of a precarious stack, "and grab a piece of parchment," she added, producing a quill from her pocket and tracing the runes with the dried inked tip. 

***

            _"Mr. Malfoy, a word please," the Deputy Headmistress said with a stone face. _

_            He looked to Justin Finch-Fletchley across the table who shrugged and took his hand off of the chess piece he was about to move. They would have to continue their match at a later date, but Draco would beat him. That was a certainty. _

_            In the office of the Headmaster, Draco sat indignantly. Couldn't all of this wait? He knew that he was in trouble for something, what was anyone's guess. It could have been a million things, but nothing so pressing as to call him from the chess competition. _

_            The Headmaster entered a moment later with the Slytherin Head of House, the elder of the two sat behind his desk with a look that gave Draco the impression that they'd been discussing an issue of vital importance and extreme delicacy. But it was not the Headmaster that spoke. Professor Snape took a tentative step toward him and with a slight bit of difficulty started, "Mr. Malfoy, I have some news regarding your mother."      _

_            It was damned cold on the moor where they had buried her. The whining wind and the sound of Lucy weeping were the only things that registered in Draco's mind. November was unforgiving. _

_            Though Snape told him little surrounding the circumstances of his mother's death, Draco knew what had happened. That was no freak fall down a staircase. It was intentional. _

_            He had never allowed himself to show emotion. His father had preached that it was a sign of weakness. What a load of shit. Lucy was not weak—she had a strength of character that commanded attention and got it, though she wanted nothing more than to blend in. He knew how the loss of her mother would affect her. She had only him now. They had only each other._

            Three hours of sleep. That had to be some sort of a record for him. Draco rarely slept through the night and had learned that he could get by just fine on very little. 

            He took a detour by Lucy's room where he found her sleeping peacefully before heading to the kitchen. Something containing caffeine should do the trick. 

            This recollection had bothered him more and more recently. It was, by no means, his only reoccurring nightmare but it had become more prevalent in the past few weeks. He'd suspected that it might be the one thing he'd let leak to Ginny in the infirmary after his injury on the Quidditch field. He'd tried to get her to tell him what it was that she'd heard him saying in his sleep without result. Just like a Weasley to gain advantage and exploit it for all it was worth. Or was that a Malfoy trait? He'd lost all comparison. 

            He'd remembered how trashed she'd looked that last time he saw her in the coffee shop and there was the odd feeling in him that he might have found her somewhat attractive. He immediately pushed that thought aside. Wasn't she dating that prat, Potter anyway? He'd have to find a way to keep her out of his path. He could easily get her fired and then there would be far less chance of their paths crossing. Yes, that's exactly what he would do. He didn't like where all of these preoccupied thoughts were leading him. Draco Malfoy having a thing for Ginny Weasley? It even sounded ridiculous. This had to stop. It did not matter if she needed this job to pay for school. There were plenty of jobs in the city. 

            He felt a strange reaction to this thought in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't really do that to her, could he? She looked like she was already dealing with her fair share of problems and he couldn't add to them. He felt a little stab of guilt at the thought, or what he thought might be guilt. That was an alien emotion for him. Loathing, anger, now those were feelings he could deal with. 

            A better idea then came to mind. 

            He couldn't be sure that she held such incriminating information about his family. She'd warmed to him slightly when he'd played charming, if he hadn't become so impatient she might have told him what she'd heard. Try the Carey Grant impression again and see where it got him. 

            Get her fired as a last result.

***

            After dinner Hermione and Ginny barricaded themselves in the room at the top of the landing. Ginny sat nervously on the bed staring at Hermione who toiled furiously with the cup, a reference and her notes. 

            "Ginny, are you sure that there's nothing you can tell me about it other than you know it has to do something? That's not a lot to go on, you know?" Hermione looked up and passed a weary hand over her eyes. She'd been staring at that cup for over and hour. 

            "I'll tell you more about it when we figure out what it does. Right now, I know about as much as you, Hermione." It was a lie and she felt slightly bad about that. 

            Hermione scribbled some more on her parchment. 

            Her eyes lit as she looked at the cup once more, grabbed her reference book and flipped furiously through its pages. More fevered scribbling ensued and then a look of triumph as Hermione threw down her quill and announced she'd gotten it. 

            "It's a Pensieve, Ginny and you'll never guess who's it supposedly was," Hermione paused for effect. 

            Ginny raised her eyebrows in question. 

            "It was Helga Hufflepuff's, though I doubt it was actually hers. It's very likely that it is a knock off."

            "It's not," Ginny said confidently, "I found it on the funerary monument of her son, Mungo Hufflepuff. It looked like it had never been disturbed. It was still in its locked hiding place."

            Hermione let out a breath of relief or excitement or apprehension, Ginny wasn't sure which. "Do you think it really holds her thoughts, the thoughts of one of the original founders of Hogwarts? I wonder what sort of things she would put in a Pensieve." Hermione eyed the cup with admiration and mumbled to herself. 

            "Well, we'll never know will we?" Ginny interrupted, "I still don't know how we're supposed to use it, get inside it and all that." She couldn't help the frustration that was starting to boil inside of her now. It had taken them this long to even crack the inscription and she'd already guessed that it must be Hufflepuff's. 

            "Oh, well that's the easy part," Hermione shrugged. "How's your potions supply?"

            "Full," Ginny replied with a shrug. Best not to say too much when Hermione was on a roll and she was. Ginny didn't want to distract her. 

            Reaching for another thick volume, a potions index this time, Hermione found the ingredients for Pensieve Thought Preservation Oil almost immediately. 

            "All it needs is a little oil and it should be as good as new." She smiled, very pleased with herself. Ginny couldn't suppress a smile of her own. She knew Hermione was the perfect go-to girl. 

            "So it's not the oil that houses the thoughts it's the cup itself?" Ginny asked, now fully understanding how simple it all was. 

            "Yes, I'll have it ready in an hour's time. Only one thing though," she added tentatively. 

            "And what's that?" Ginny asked skeptically. 

            "I go with you. I know you can't be harmed inside of a Pensieve and all but I would feel better if you didn't go on your own."

            "Agreed," Ginny replied knowing that Hermione wouldn't want to pass up this prime research opportunity. She'd automatically assumed that Hermione would join her. She wouldn't tell a living soul about the expedition.         

            Ginny trusted her.  


	7. Allaince of the Founders

Disclaimer: You know the drill. What's mine? A lot of this Founders' History. Names of Founders: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin belong to Rowling. The characters: Azria, Maren, Faramir  (kudos to Tolkein, I only borrowed the name), Isaiah, Galahad and Mungo (Rowling's name, my character) Eomer and Eowyn (also Tolkein inspired) are mine. (Names may not show up in this chapter but these characters will) Whew! 

Author's Note: This is the scene that sparked a new idea in my mind for a Founders' Story. I realized while I was outlining all of this stuff for the sake of this second story in my series that it would make a pretty interesting story all on its own. You can expect to see the beginnings of this story around Christmas or the New Year (school is really putting a cramp in my style!)

Chapter Seven

Alliance of the Founders

_"An invasion of armies can be resisted, but not an idea whose time has come."_

Victor Hugo, L'Histoire dun Crime, 1852 

            They fell hard to the ground in the middle of what looked to be a very important, yet archaic meeting. 

            Hermione and Ginny looked to each other, their faces seemed to say "it's a good thing they can't see us."

            And it was a very good thing. At least four of the attendees bore broadswords at their sides that ran nearly the entire length of their enormous statures. Ginny's eyes widened as the fell upon the blades, some gleaming, others dull. Other medieval weaponry lay in various states of repair and cleaning on the tables at one end. A fire blazed in the enormous grate beyond that. 

            Three chairs sat on the perimeter of a mosaic circle in the flag stoned floor. In each sat a worried and grave figure. Nearest Ginny was a woman with brunette hair wound around her head in a complicated configuration of braids. She wore a blue robe of velvet with intricate bronze piping. Rowena Ravenclaw was Ginny's guess. Behind her stood a man of about twenty. His face was solemn. You could even go so far as to say he looked angry. He had the same shade of hair as the woman seated in front of him. 

            "Galahad Ravenclaw," Hermione informed her when she'd seen her staring. She couldn't help it he was very handsome for someone who'd been dead for hundreds of years. "I have no idea who that is next to him," Hermione continued, indicating the silvery-blond haired girl next to Galahad, "Ravenclaw didn't have a daughter, that I'm aware of anyway."

            "Then I suppose that scowling, armored man there is Godric Gryffindor?" Ginny asked indicating with a nod of her head, a man with sandy blond hair. 

            "That'd be my guess," was Hermione's distracted answer. Ginny looked at her to see what had grabbed her attention so. She was staring past Godric and to the young man standing behind his left shoulder. The man looked a little like Harry, same hair, same facial structure, but with hazel eyes. 

            "Who's that?" Ginny asked.

            "No idea. I don't suppose he's related to Godric. The other one looks like his son." Ginny could see the resemblance between Godric and the man to his right. He was at least five years the senior of the man who resembled Harry. "That's got to be Godric's son, Isaiah. He's dressed for the part. The other one, the one that looks like Harry is dressed as though he's nothing more than a stable boy." Hermione exchanged a look with Ginny. It was very curious, the resemblance and all. 

            "Helga," Hermione pointed to a stout blond woman and then to the red headed man standing at her right hand, "and Mungo Hufflepuff. That must be one of his sisters there." Hermione finished the introductions and Ginny's eyes fell on the red headed pair, both were tall and elegantly dressed. The girl was beautiful. 

            Her attention was ripped away as Godric Gryffindor stood and walked to the center of the assembly. Hermione and Ginny unconsciously slid backwards, they had no wish to be trod on by such and enormous man with a menacing broadsword attached to his side. 

            "And you are positive that Salazar has already set this plan in motion, Helga?" He turned to address the formidable blond woman dressed in black. "Our blood lines are cursed and there will be no hope of defeating this 'last of Slytherin's heirs'?"

            The woman nodded slowly. "Our heirs are rendered powerless against him and our blood lines are shortened, tainted by the curse that Salazar has given as insurance that we will be useless against his future plans. Our blood will not endure the end of the millennium. I have seen it all. Doubt not that I tell you the truth. It will come to pass."

She nodded solemnly in Rowena's direction. Taking the cue, she rose and stated, "There is a way to defeat his 'last heir'. We empower each one chosen. Give them the essential tools and gifts that will be necessary to defeat such an evil future presence. If we do this not, the world will be doomed to live under the boot of a villainous overlord the likes of which could not possibly be fathomed in this lifetime. Helga, Godric. Are you prepared to take such actions to prevent the decay of the future our community? Have you a faithful servant who would dedicate themselves, their future, their chidren and children's children to this cause?"

            "Faramir, my squire and servant is prepared to take up my sword," turning to the man that looked like Harry, Godric spoke with a great presence, "I give you every greatness that I have ever presumed to possess. You shall have courage in battle, mercy for those who do you wrong and most importantly, my sword that you may always do right and noble deeds by its blade." He approached the young man who wore a set expression. 

            "I will with all my heart, my lord."

            Unpinning the fibula that attached Gryffindor's crimson cloak to his breastplate, ruby and gold, Godric pinned it to the young man's tunic, bowing, he handed Faramir his sword.

            Ginny's eyes widened. The sword of Gryffindor, Ginny had seen Harry with it in the Chamber of Secrets. 

Her eyes wandered to the face of Isaiah Gryffindor. He stood behind his father's chair, looking on this scene with clenched teeth. His jaw was working. Was he grinding his teeth? What was the story there? Ginny's mind worked through the possible answers, but she was distracted as Godric sat again and Helga rose this time. 

            "Azria, stepdaughter, child like my own, I pass to you my knowledge of healing and seeing, Use these gifts always for good my beloved child." As Helga finished she produced a pewter cup, the Pensieve that Ginny and Hermione now looked into. 

            Ginny turned to Hermione. "I thought you said that was her daughter? Didn't Helga just say that the Founders' bloodlines had been tainted and they could not raise up arms against Slytherin's heir themselves?"

            Hermione shrugged, "I assumed that it was. She said stepdaughter. It must be her husband's first child by another marriage. She's not of Helga's bloodline."

            Helga had taken her seat and Rowena now stood to address her chosen one. 

            The girl looked timid and slight, but beautiful. Silver tendrils framed her pale face and cascaded down her robes, the color of Rowena's own robes. Ginny watched as Galahad reached out and took her hand. He seemed to give her strength. Ginny found this touching and smiled. 

            "Maren, my abandoned child given me by grace, among the gifts I give you, the power of intuition. Against evil, your mind will be sharper that the Dark One's blade. You alone can lead the way." In saying this Rowena reached around her neck and unclasped the necklace that hung there. Moving to place it around the young girl's neck, Rowena kissed her forehead gently and turned to address the entire assembly. 

            Ginny leaned around Ravenclaw to look at the pendant, a silver Fleur-de-lis with a bright sapphire in the middle. It was by far the most beautiful and elegant of the chosen gifts. 

            Rowena continued, "You have been chosen for a formidable task, hold tight to the commitment you've made this very night, you chosen three. We've given you the gifts, which you are to pass along in your own house, teach your children and children's children their purpose. Your blood shall be the downfall of the heir of the Dark One. Go with grace and all we have given you. You are the only chance afforded to us. The fate of the world now rests in your hands. Do not fail. Do not fear. You have all you need to defeat the heir."

            The scene faded in front of Ginny's eyes. She found herself kneeling on her own bed staring wide-eyed and amazed at Hermione who returned the look. 

            The Pensieve sat between them. 

***

            Completely hopeless, Arabella thought as she scanned the dusty volumes stacked in front of her. Without knowing exactly what it was that Peter had taken from the catacombs of Ravenna or what information he'd gotten from his connection he'd been seen with there it looked like a dead end. 

            She absently flipped the pages of a muggle tourist guide of the ancient city. They offered a midnight tour of the catacombs there. How morbid. 

            What would Peter and, consequently, Voldemort want with that place? It was a puzzle she'd been trying to solve for nearly a week now. There was literally no connection between that place and anything remotely dealing with Dark Magic.

            Unless­…

            Of course, how had she not made the connection? 

            In 1992 her biggest case study ever had ended with the discovery of the Chamber of Secrets culprit at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle. The papers had fed the general public an entirely different story, but because Arabella was a close, trusted friend of the Headmaster's and also the Lieutenant Director investigating the resurgence of dark activity, she was privy to the most confidential of information regarding the reopening and mysterious attack on the students. 

            She had become a regular encyclopedia concerning Tom Riddle, Jr. How was it that she'd forgotten that his mother's family was from Ravenna, dating as far back as 1436? She could have kicked herself. 

            Instead she threw down the tourist's guide, nearly knocking the precarious stack of books from the table to the floor. She made an apologetic gesture to the librarian, a short, withered man, and ran hurriedly from the British Museum. 

            She had to get to Ravenna. 

            But first she would have to stop at her office a couple of blocks over to pick up the Slytherin File, her life's work and most precious possession. She ran all the way. Every second counted.

            "I'm headed back to the school now," Severus' voice called from the back room as she slammed the door and hurried to her desk. "If there's anything you need…" he continued as he came to stand in the doorway of her office but trailed off, apparently distracted by her furiously jostling the handle of her locked file drawer. "I think you'll need a key for that one," he added sarcastically, "what's your hurry? Have you found something?"

            "I think I have," Arabella answered, digging furiously through her bag for her keys. Severus picked her key ring up from the desktop and inserted the appropriate key in the filing drawer's lock. 

            "Why don't you slow down and tell me what you've found before you run off to wherever it is your so impatient to get to."

            "I need to get to Ravenna. Sirius said that Peter had met someone there. I didn't see it before but it's so obvious. Tom Riddle's family is from Ravenna. I just hope that this doesn't have anything to do with what I think it does." She pulled out the thick Slytherin File and let it drop to her lap. She sat on the floor staring at it for a second. "We could be facing some pretty serious dark magic here soon." She looked up and met Severus' dark and unsurprised eyes. His calm composure in response to such portents rattled her slightly. How does he do that?

            "You're going to Ravenna?" He asked finally. 

            "Yes, I have to find out what it is that he took from the catacombs."

            Severus shook his head. "You're not wandering around and underground graveyard by yourself, Arabella." His voice carried a hint of something that told her there was no use arguing. She tried anyway. 

            "I have to. This could be the final and destructive blow the wizarding community has feared for decades. I have to go. Plus, I'm a highly decorated Auror. I can handle myself."

            "Be that as it may, I am going with you."

            "Won't Dumbledore be missing you? School starts pretty soon and he depends on you so." She'd tried her hardest to convince him that his duty was here. But she could think of worse companions for a trip into the bowls of an ancient city. 

            "He is on assignment with Hagrid. They've gone to meet with a contingent of Giants that they're convinced will help them. He's not expected back for at least a week. And stop trying to find an excuse for me to stay here. You're not going alone and that's the end of that."

***

            "Did you understand any part of that?" Ginny asked after a moment of catching her breath and slowing her racing heart. 

            "It's just as I imagined it would be." Hermione was breathless as well. 

            Ginny shook her head, "Well if you know what that was all about please explain. I didn't understand one bit."

            Hermione could tell that Ginny was becoming uneasy. Rightly so, that was a pretty hefty commission that Rowena Ravenclaw had hefted on those three chosen. Hermione debated mentally whether she should ask Ginny if she recognized Azria at all. It made perfect though frightening sense to Hermione. Azria looked as though she could be another Weasley. The resemblance was disturbingly uncanny. Mungo bore a slight resemblance as well, but not as stark as that of Azria. 

            "What we just witnessed was probably the Alliance of the three Founders. Slytherin is, by this time, making progress with his experiments on immortality. I'm not sure if this is before his son was killed or after."

            "Oh, was he trying to bring his son back from the dead?" Ginny's eyes lit with intrigue. 

            "I doubt it. That would be a whole different brand of dark magic all together. I think that with his death and that of his first wife, Salazar Slytherin was trying to insure his own immortality and that of his daughter. He wasn't afraid of death as I see it. It's just that he was afraid of losing the ones he cared about. Anyway, the other three caught on to what he was doing. His son died in one of the experiments and the three Founders watched him closely after that. He must have gone a little insane after losing Eomer. He cursed the blood of the Founders and they consequently had him executed. But all of this is beside the point as, before his death, Slytherin and his daughter Eowyn created some sort of loophole for his last apparent heir. 

            "Helga Hufflepuff was a seer, one of the few true seers. They're more rare now than they were, but there are still a lot of frauds. She saw the curse on their blood, the bid for future immortality of his last apparent heir in a dream. She was the one who called that council we were present at. They picked three loyal servants whose line they've empowered with their rare gifts and these lines are the only hope the wizarding community has in defeating this 'dark heir of Slytherin's.'"

            Hermione wore a look of shock and realization. 

            "What are you thinking, Hermione?" Ginny asked, touching her knee tentatively bringing her out of her thoughts. 

            "It's Voldemort. He's the last heir. He'll be searching for that loophole of Slytherin's in order to gain immortality and rule as a dark dictator. He won't stop at Great Britain, he'll be taking over the whole of Europe piece by piece and then…" She trailed off. Her eyes became wide with fear, Ginny cast about wildly for something encouraging to say; she needed to hear the rest of the story. Hermione couldn't lose control now. It was important that Ginny knew everything. 

            "And what about the three chosen? Hermione, look at me. I need to know the rest. This is important. I need to know."

            Hermione's eyes came back into focus and she nodded. "They are the only ones that can stop this. I, I think-," she lost her words again and began ringing her hands methodically. 

            "Do you know who the chosen three are? Is Harry Faramir's heir?" Ginny spoke slowly and with as much calm as she could muster. 

            Hermione nodded again, "I think that it's more than possible. How else could he have called the sword to him in the Chamber?" Ginny nodded slowly. That definitely had weight to it. It made a logical bit of sense. 

            "And the other two?"

            Hermione looked at her in surprise. Ginny sat back on the bed. Was there something she missed? Hermione looked at her as if the answer was obvious. 

            "It's you, Ginny. You're Azria's heir."

            Ginny shook her head automatically. In the back of her mind she knew this was the truth, the visions, the Pensieve. How else would she have known all of this? It all fit. 

            "I've been doing research on these four for several months now. I'm writing a paper on them. Ginny, Hega's stepdaughter, Azria Edin, married Sir Guy Ottery. How long has your family lived here?"

            Ginny shook her head. She didn't know. They've had family here in Ottery St. Catchpole since at least the end of the fourteenth century, she guessed. 

            She nodded in resignation. Okay so she was Helga Hufflepuff's chosen one, Harry may be Gryffindor's, so…

            "So who is Ravenclaw's chosen one?" Ginny asked tentatively. 

            Hermione shrugged. "Ravenclaw's family is Norman. I have no idea who it could be but we should find out as soon as we can." Hermione's eyebrows furrowed with worry as she examined the cup again. 

            Ginny exhaled. This was all coming in around her and she couldn't stop it. She knew that it would not be long before Voldemort discovered all of this as well. He'd already found his piece of the puzzle. The cup she'd seen Wormtail hand over in the dream. Ginny had no idea what role the cup played in his bid for immortality, but her hope was that Voldemort didn't know either. 


	8. I Might As Well

Disclaimer: I only claim the original characters that do not appear in the actual series. They have become so numerous, to tell you the truth, that I am not going to mention them all. The plot also belongs to me. So don't sue! 

Author's Note: This is a really fun chapter that I've wanted to write it for a while now. The inspiration for Jim the American Investment Banker comes from this one pathetic loser I met at my local swing haunt and unfortunately had the good will to dance with him. He sucked big time and then proceeded to follow me to my table and small talk my friends and me into the ground. No amount of alcohol can salvage that! Needless to say, I wish I had a Draco around to deal with him more effectively. Whatever your name was: You will be immortalized in my fiction (and metaphorically eviscerated as well). Cheers!

Chapter Eight

I might as well

_"Come out Virginia, don't let me wait_

_You Catholic girls start much too late_

_But sooner or later it comes down to fate_

_I might as well be the one…" _

Billy Joel: 'Only The Good Die Young' 

            Hermione had promised to do everything possible on her end to find hard evidence as to the heirs of Gryffindor's and Ravenclaw's chosen ones. Harry seemed likely, but she and Ginny had decided not to mention anything about it to him until it became necessary. 

            Ginny on the other hand, was the only likely candidate for Hufflepuff's chosen. Hermione had been worried that it might be more than the strained and stressed girl could handle. Ginny would insist on no more help from Hermione than research. 

            Against her better judgment, Ginny took the Pensieve back to Paris with her, convinced it was not safe enough at the Burrow. The crazed, paranoid conspiracy theorist did not become Ginny at all.  

            Hermione had shut herself into the room she shared with Ginny during her stays at the Burrow. Now it was empty. Ginny had been gone a week and Hermione worried more about her now than she did when she'd left the first time. 

            She fought the urge to stare at the blank computer screen across the room. 

            Ginny wasn't telling her the full story. 

            Not even half, by Hermione's guess.

            Whatever was so important that it kept Ginny closed off from her family and friends, and as Hermione had suspected, made her attempt suicide twice, was hidden safely away in that computer. She knew Ginny kept a computer journal. 

            After all of her problems with the regular sort of diary, Hermione didn't blame her for resorting to muggle technology. At least a computer didn't think for itself, literally anyway. Hermione sat up and looked over at the monitor of the computer in shut down mode. She marveled that Ginny had gotten it to work at all. Probably enchanted in some way or another. There was no way that this magical household had the capabilities to power this device. Not power outlets, phone lines, cables. 

            Off the subject, Hermione reminded herself, shaking her head to clear it. 

            She'd been buried in books all afternoon. 

            Founders' history. 

It got repetitive after a while. 

Hermione willed herself to return to her task. Ginny asked her to research and like any good, well trained student, she put herself to the task willingly. 

But everything she needed to know was locked away on that hard drive. 

The reason Ginny had tried to end her life. The reason she was always so skittish and harangued. All of her answers were there. Encrypted as Ginny had pointed out last week, but what was that to Hermione? Her father was an amateur hacker. Call it a hobby of sorts. He'd taught his little girl everything he knew. Ginny's computer couldn't be that difficult to crack. 

Hermione shook her head. 

Invasion of privacy. She couldn't do that to Ginny. 

If she wanted to tell Hermione everything, well she will, in her own time. 

Hermione gathered up the essential books for her search and headed down to the kitchen. Harry and Ron couldn't possibly be as big of a distraction as this IBM that kept beckoning her. 

***

 "Eliza was the only daughter of Hammond Fiorelli, an Italian who was raised in Southern Germany. His sister Hildegard had a son," Arabella lectured to Severus as they searched for an entrance to the underground around a stout little building of gray stone, a mausoleum. 

"Grindewald," Severus added for her, finishing her sentence. 

Arabella stopped and turned, leveling a wilting glance at her partner. "Would you like to finish the rest of the story, seeing as you know everything there is to know? Oh, teach me something about the Slytherins that I don't already know Professor Snape, the wisest, best teacher at Hogwarts School-," Arabella teased. Mocking Severus Snape had become a sort of pastime of sorts for her. She'd always gotten on to Sirius and James for the same thing in school. For some reason, Severus didn't mind it so much coming from her. They'd always been friends, even though he'd never approved of the other students she'd kept company with. Gryffindors were all the same to him. They never changed. 

Except for Arabella. She was never a textbook definition for anything. 

He held his palms up, sign of truce, silencing her rebuke. 

He ought to know better, he thought, than to interrupt her when she was telling her story. No one should carry an interest of the original dark wizard to the extreme she did. It was off-putting. She carried on as if he were some celebrity she was infatuated with. A smile came to his face as he thought, if Slytherin were alive today and making headlines, she would be the one to collect the cuttings and store then in a scrapbook, like an obsessed thirteen-year-old girl.  

"Shall I continue?" she asked with raised eyebrows. 

Severus nodded slowly, now pretending to be engrossed in finding the passage. If only the old man they'd sought out was more helpful. They'd visited the witness that Black had spoken with, the one who'd seen Peter by the catacombs entrance. He seemed spooked to Severus, like someone was watching him, making sure the old man didn't give away too much. That meant that they were being watched as well. Severus didn't like the feel of this place. He would not regret coming along, however. The thought of Arabella coming to this place alone was an even more unsettling one. 

He randomly prodded stones at the north wall of the ancient building. It was the only hint the old man would give them regarding the catacomb's entrance. He was surprised when his touch caused one of the stones to give way, admitting the two into a narrow passage to a dank and musty underground network. The smell of ancient bones and decay wafted through the opening. Severus stepped back, looking around to see if they were being watched. You'd have to have night vision or something like it to have noticed anything. It was closed to ten at night in Ravenna. 

Arabella lighted her wand and smiled widely, like a child at Christmas. "Ladies first," she whispered. 

Severus gestured for her to take the lead, "If you insist."

She could play Indiana Jones all she liked. At least he wouldn't be the one breaking all of the spiders' webs in the path. He didn't like spiders too much. 

***

Closing her eyes to the early afternoon sun, Ginny laid back on the cool grass under a shade tree. She would have to be at work in twenty minutes, but for now, she wanted to have a nap in the park. She shut her book and tossed it aside, flung her sandals off and cushioned her head with her arms. A practically perfect afternoon. 

She'd had little sleep since she'd some back to France. She missed home so much. That and the end of the world as she knew it weighed heavily on her shoulders. The one comfort she had pertaining to this eminent dark overthrow was that Hermione was back in England finding out everything she could about these "chosen three". 

Although, she had no idea why she'd insisted on it, Ginny was adamant on bringing the Pensieve back with her. She just didn't think it would be safe at the Burrow. It was a gut feeling. She didn't want to be separated from it. She didn't want to have another look in it either. The future scared her. When the past predicted the future—that was even scarier. Ironic, she thought, she was a seer afraid of seeing the future. She remembered the meeting she and Hermione had witnessed. Gift, my ass! This was more like a curse. She didn't want to see the things she was seeing. It was better to stay awake as long as possible. But she couldn't stay awake anymore. She was sure she would crash and burn if she'd tried. 

But she would not have the luxury of sleep right now. 

A snide comment caught her ear and she knew exactly whose mouth it had come from. "This park used to be quite lovely, I remember. Not so full of drunken vagrants passed out on the grass. It's really gone to hell."

She groaned. "Go away, Draco," she pleaded in a weary tone not opening her eyes. "I didn't get all that much sleep last night and I've been in school all day. Please, have pity on me and bother someone else. Sophie's across the street in the shop, I'm sure she'd find everything you say humorous."

"That really hurts, you know," he said. 

"I'm sorry, it's the best I can do right now. I'm tired and I'm on in fifteen. So if you don't mind-." She groaned again and sat up as he took a seat in the grass beside her. No sleep for Ginny today. 

"How was your trip home?" he asked good-naturedly, causing Ginny to do a double take. Why did he bother? It was really beyond reason, his behavior. What was the ulterior motive there? So he'd asked around work and found out that she'd been in England last week. Not that impressive.

"Fine." Short, clipped answers, maybe he'll get the point and leave. 

"Just fine?" 

"Yep, just fine." 

"I'm not going to leave until I get what I want. So give up and tell me what secret of mine you know or act civil. Either way you can't get rid of me that easily." Wow, he said all of that with one breath. Masterful. 

"Draco, I don't have any incriminating information on you. I know you're not as evil as everyone else wants to believe you are. What you said in that hospital room was really not that big of a deal and besides I'm not about to leak any information to the press, alright?" Ginny tried to sound as calm and placating as possible. 

"If it wasn't that big of a deal, why won't you tell me?" he asked, not a hint of aggravation. He was really good at this game. 

"It's nothing. Why not just leave it at that. I was just trying to annoy you, that day when you ran into me. You were acting like an asshole and I was in a hurry. It was all just a bit of fun. Don't be so paranoid." She smiled sweetly. His expression softened a little and he conceded for the moment. 

"When I ran into you?" Draco repeated sarcastically.

"Why must you insist on ruining such a beautiful afternoon?" Ginny asked, staring off at a little French boy wading into the pond to retrieve the injured toy boat of a crying girl in pig-tails on the shore. She smiled. How adorable!

"Did I ruin it?" Draco answered following her gaze to the pair of children. 

"Nearly ruined it," she amended. 

"Can I make it up to you?" he asked.

"And how would you do that?" Ginny's attention returned to Draco sitting on the grass next to her after the tiny boy hero returned the invalid vessel to its owner. He got a kiss on the cheek for all of his trouble. Children are the model of what grown-ups ought to be. 

"How much of Paris have you seen since you've been here?" 

"Not much," Ginny sighed with regret, "I've been endlessly busy with school and work. I've seen the museum once, but that was weeks ago." 

"Do you dance?" Draco asked. 

Ginny smiled. Was he asking her out on a date? If it were anyone else, she might have found this sweet but you never know with this one, she reminded herself. 

"Depends on what you mean by dancing. I can follow a decent leader." She didn't mean to be difficult, but she wouldn't admit to Draco Malfoy that she was bad at anything. She wasn't _that_ gracious.

Draco looked at his watch, apparently unaffected by her scathing challenge. Was it just a family trait, a gene somewhere in the genetic makeup of a Malfoy to be that full of yourself?

"It's almost three, what time do you have to be at work?" he said.

"I go in at three," Ginny said putting her shoes back on. 

Draco stood and offered her a hand getting to her feet. Ginny took it, hoping at the same time that she didn't appear too shocked by the gesture. He wants something, that's what this act is all about, Ginny told herself. 

"What time do you get off?" he asked, handing her book to her as they walked toward the street. 

"Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight. Can I take you out dancing? You said you haven't seen that much of Paris. At night, Paris looks perfect from the inside of my favorite swing club."

"You have a favorite swing club?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows. 

"Don't pretend to be shocked. There's a lot you don't know about me. I love big bands, Frank Sinatra, black and white movies and swing dancing. Maybe you'll find out more if you say yes and come with me tonight." He smiled. Why did he have to look and act so charming? Really, he could turn it on and off just like a faucet. 

She debated over whether or not to accept him. There were plenty of logical reasons to say no. 

"Okay, fine. I get off at eight. You can pick me up at nine-thirty." She had no idea why she had accepted right off the bat like she had, but what the hell. The only thing she'd had planned for tonight was a bit of studying. No need to have two Hermiones loose on earth. Besides, she needed to have a little fun. Who better to raise some hell with that the son of Satan himself?

He smiled, a real genuine smile of someone who is thoroughly pleased with himself. "Good, at least I didn't have to threaten to get you fired in order to persuade you."

"So I really had no choice," Ginny agreed shaking her head. 

"None at all, Weasley." He grinned devilishly, "See you tonight?"

"Fine."

***

"So Hildegard, of course, sought world domination for her son. I mean what kind of mother would she be if she didn't have some sort of ambition for her child?" Arabella continued, turning to speak to Severus over her shoulder. He'd been silent for quite a while. She hadn't bothered to ask why. Maybe he feared another rebuke if he interrupted or was it that her stories were putting him to sleep? 

Either way, she was feeling a bit lonely in that dark and dripping tunnel with only her voice to keep her company. 

As if in answer to her thoughts, his hand went to her shoulder and she heard him reply, "Of course. Then what happened?" 

She smiled and continued, more to keep herself from having an anxiety attack. The tunnels seemed to be narrowing with every step. She would never admit, however, that she was slightly claustrophobic. That was weak, something Arabella had striven her whole life to prove she wasn't. 

"They knew of Slytherin's guarantee for his last remaining heir. He'd set up some sort of instruction for the last remainder of Slytherin blood. No one, to this day, has any idea of what that might be or what one has to do to receive that instruction. But an old myth of the family holds that it was cast into a cup, this dark magic instruction. I believe that if the Slytherin line wanted it kept secret, they would have hidden it with their ancestors." She paused, holding her wand up to a wet and slimy wall. A few early Christian frescos depicting Old Testament themes were visible through the algae. She shook her head. Not what they were looking for. 

"Hildegard obviously knew she'd had a brother, Hammond, and he might also have children of his own. That would nullify Grindewald's claim to the- I don't know what you'd call it. Call it his inheritance. So she did what any loving mother would do—she sought out her brother, who was living in Rome at the time with his eight-year-old daughter Eve. She killed them both. Now the path was clear for her son. He sought wealth, power, world domination, you know, the usual. And he was killed. Unsuccessful."

She paused again and turned, nearly causing her excavation partner to run into her. "Do you know why he was unsuccessful?" she asked, holding her wand up between them to shed some light in the tunnel. 

"Do you expect me to answer that truthfully or just shake my head and let you carry on?" Severus asked in a sarcastic monotone. 

"No, please answer," Arabella invited him.

"Because Hammond had another child, Eliza."

"Very good. You're paying attention." Arabella continued down the tunnel again. "While in Rome, sixteen-year-old Eliza Fiorelli met a Mr. Thomas Riddle, vacationing there with his family. The rest is self-explanatory. She left her family and came to England with him. They married. A few months into the marriage he found out what a wicked evil witch she was. He abandoned her along with her unborn child," she turned and spoke over her shoulder again, "which I believe he was unaware of at the time. Eliza gave birth to a one Tom Marvolo Riddle and died, leaving him a ward to the state. Around the time our world dominator, Grindewald, is defeated and killed Hogwarts is home to one of its most promising pupils ever. And you know the rest, I'm sure." Arabella completed her tale with a wry smile and the comment, "History is so much fun."

Severus only shook his head and dodged a spider web. 

***

Draco depressed the button that buzzed Ginny's apartment and got a hassled voice on the other end, "Come on up. The door's open." The lock clicked on the outer door and Draco climbed a short flight of stairs to an open door. 

He was five minutes late, but when he saw Ginny, he knew she wasn't keeping track. She was still in her bathrobe with her hair wrapped in a towel. 

She stopped briefly on her way back to the bathroom to apologize for keeping him waiting, she'd been held up at work. 

"Do you live here alone?" Draco asked, surprised not to see any other hostile redheads about. He scanned a wall of pictures, his eyes lingering briefly on one in particular of a small girl in a yellow sundress blowing on a dandelion. Flaming red hair and bright brown eyes. She was even beautiful as a child. 

"No, my oldest brother Bill lives here as well. He works at the bank. He's out right now with some one or other. He's got a new girl each week. It's hard to keep track, so I don't." She stopped next to him on her way to her room and groaned. "Oh no, you've found the pictures. That one's particularly embarrassing. Bill's favorite, though, so he won't let me take it down." She disappeared into her bedroom. 

Draco continued to stare at the image. "Why don't you like it? It's a nice photograph, really."

"I'm chubby."

"And you're what? Four-years-old? It's not that incriminating. All babies are chubby. Besides, you're not chubby now," Draco answered diplomatically. 

"Oh, well thank you for noticing," Ginny shot back sarcastically from her room. She appeared in the doorway and straightened the front of her dress self-consciously. "Do I look alright?" she asked. It looked to Draco as if she was fearing his answer. 

To his amazement, Draco found it hard to answer, having lost his voice when she walked into the room. A redheaded Natalie Wood. He cleared his throat and reproached himself. He was a Malfoy. He had an answer for everything. "You look fine. We better go. We're already late." Immediately he regretted saying it. She looked crestfallen. But she covered it gracefully with a smile.

"Yes, I guess I did make us rather late."

La Coupole was a wonderful Art Deco club that thronged with the wealthy and famous who enjoyed the nightlife of Paris. 

Upon entering, Ginny understood why Draco had said that it was the best way to see Paris at night. You could actually see the City of Lights though the immense glass ceiling. The Eiffel Tower sparked with a million fairy lights. It was enchanting. 

She hardly even noticed as Draco took her by the arm. The trumpets and saxophones from the live band pounded in her ears. She didn't even catch half of what he said to her about the notable people who've frequented this spot, Lenin, Stravinsky, Hemmingway, she might have even caught the name Einstein. She began to doubt that he'd had an ulterior motive in asking her here. He definitely wouldn't get his secret out of her tonight. She could hardly hear herself think. And she didn't want to either. She was amazed at the dancers out on the floor, she'd never seen anyone move like that, except in the movies, and she'd seen a few. She was a big fan of muggle cinema. 

"You can dance like that?" Ginny asked, wide-eyed with amazement as she indicated a pair of lindy-hopping dancers who were drawing a crowd of spectators around them. Draco merely smiled and nodded. Ginny's attention remained on the pair. She could not move like that, she would surely kill herself. She resolved to sit at her table for the rest of the night and not get up for anyone or anything. 

"I'll teach you, if you want. But first I need a drink. Do you want anything?" He asked, getting up from the table. 

"A Cosmopolitan, thanks," Ginny answered not taking her eyes off of the crowded dance floor.

Draco disappeared into a flock of loud partiers, each with a drink in hand. Not two seconds after he'd gone, a man in a suit sidled up to Ginny's table and took her hand. Surprised at the forwardness of the guy, Ginny jumped slightly. 

"You look like you're in desperate need of a partner," he asked with a gleaming grin and far too much confidence. 

"I wouldn't say in desperate need. I don't even know how to dance," she admitted with a pleasant smile. 

He was insistent. "I spotted you clear across the room. You are a stunning creature. I said to my associates, 'I have to dance with that enchanting young lady if it's the last thing I do." Apparently he thought he was something else and he expected Ginny to pick up on that general theme. "So, how about it?" he asked, laying on his American accent and charm thick. He nearly pulled her from her seat before she'd had the chance to answer in the negative. Apparently he thought she was a sure thing. "Come on, sweetheart. The song will be over before your boyfriend, there realizes you've left him." He winked at her and flashed a winning smile.

"Thank you, but I-," she began to pull her hand away when a voice behind her interrupted her protest. She was relieved to hear the scathing and sarcastic tones, for once not directed at herself. 

"I think she's trying to let you down gently. Please accept her rejection with what little dignity you've left yourself, release her hand and run along," Draco said to the American, setting Ginny's drink down on the table and draining the last of his as he stood there. 

"Calm down, pal. I was talking with the girl here, not you," the man said, stepping menacingly closer to Draco who merely smiled slyly. This was amusing him? Ginny took a long drink from her martini. This should be interesting. 

"I'm afraid you've picked the wrong girl to talk to, er… I'm sorry I didn't catch your name," Draco said, oozing forced politeness. 

"Jim, just call me Jim," the man smiled and thrust out a hand. Draco took it and smiled. 

"Well, Jim. By the looks of things, I'd say you're here on business… What line of work are you in?" Draco asked again. His patience with this guy was something to wonder at. Ginny found it all amusing and watched with interest as she sipped her drink. 

"I'm an Investment Banker. My firm just flew me and a couple of the guys out here for the weekend. Just landed and huge deal. Letting off a bit of steam, seeing the sights, you know." He puffed himself up importantly. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Well, why don't you take your cheap suit and your tired pick-up lines and invest your time a little more economically trying to pull on one of the drunk and easy girls at the bar. You're wasting your time with this one, mate," Draco stepped between Ginny and Jim. 

"Your last chance to act on the best offer you've had all night, doll," he craned his neck to shoot Ginny another winning smile. She smiled but shook her head, declining the less than enticing offer. 

The American apparently didn't have anything else to add to the conversation and so followed Draco's advice and headed for the bar. Ginny leaned around Draco to follow the poor rejected fool with her eyes. He walked up to a woman, swaggering a bit then sagged as the woman shook her head. Tonight was not his night. Ginny almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Draco sat and smiled. 

The evening wasn't a waste after all. He'd wounded the ego of a complete stranger and the most beautiful girl in the crowded room sat across from him smiling amusedly. 

"I don't think he'll ever recover, you know?" she said, still staring after the sad devil. "I almost felt sorry enough to dance with him."

"Ten to one says he doesn't even know how to dance. He's just here to find someone he can take back to his cheap hotel room with him," Draco answered, surveying the dance floor. Ginny noted how his face lit up as a classic Sinatra tune began. 

"Dance with me?" he asked in the most sincere tone. Ginny complied before she even knew what he'd asked her. He was just that persuasively charming. 

She almost panicked as she found herself on the dance floor in his arms. She had no idea what she was doing. He calmed her fears with a smile. He knew what he was doing and he was an excellent leader. She would appear graceful no matter what she did, Ginny thought, with Draco as her partner. It was a good thing that the song was a slow one anyway. 

Halfway into the tune, Ginny was exceedingly grateful for the low lighting of the room. She could feel her cheeks heating and hoped that it was too dark for him to notice. In that incredibly charming way he had, Draco began to sing the lyrics of the song, just inches from her ear. He had a very nice singing voice, Ginny noticed with the slightest bit of surprise. 

"Fill my heart with song, let me sing forevermore. You are all I long for all I worship and adore. In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you…"

Now this moment was fast climbing the charts as one of the happiest of her life, and for the life of her, Ginny could not explain why.  


	9. Fog

Disclaimer: I own the plot and a few minor and major characters. I don't pretend to be the god of the Harry Potter universe. That title belongs to Ms. Rowling alone. 

Chapter Nine

Fog

_"A foggy day in London town_

_It had me low and it had me down_

_I viewed the morning_

_With much alarm_

_The British Museum had lost its charm_

_How long, I wondered, could this thing last?_

_But the age of miracles it hadn't passed _

_And suddenly I saw you standing right there _

_And in foggy London town_

_The sun was shining everywhere."_

Frank Sinatra: 'A Foggy Day' 

            Draco instructed the driver to take the car home. It was the perfect night for a stroll.

Ginny hugged her arms around her, wrapped in Draco's coat. She smiled as she had been smiling all night long. She couldn't stop. She'd learned a lot about the person she was strolling through the park with at this insanely early hour of the morning. 

            At the moment, he was railing on about his horse, Emile. 

            Ginny found everything about him charming. The way he'd casually shove his hands into his pockets, the way he sang, he was an excellent dancer. She even thought he was handsome when he was being an unforgivable prat.

            She shook these thoughts from her mind. It was frivolous to feel this way about him. All things considered, he was the worst person possible for her. Her family was sure to hate him. His family hated her, well, what she'd met of his family anyway. His father had been the one to break her check bone last summer, she reminded herself. She gave an involuntary shudder at the thought. 

            Draco stopped and turned to her. "Are you still cold?" he asked. It was summer in Paris, but the nights could still be a bit breezy. 

            Ginny shook her head hurriedly. There was something that was still nagging at the back of her mind. She'd been wrestling with whether or not to tell him what she knew. He'd let quite a bit slip in the hospital wing when she was watching him and she'd been curious about him ever since. She would be mad at herself if she let the opportunity for him to explain it all slip away. 

            She sat on a nearby bench and curled her knees into her chest. Draco did not sit, but stood staring at her, his hair was lit angelically by the moonlight. 

            "What's bothering you, Ginny?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets in that way Ginny found adorable. 

            "Can you tell there's something wrong?" she asked, disappointed that she was always so transparent. She bit her lip. If she brought up the subject, it could very well ruin this perfect evening. To hell with it, she told herself, she had to know. 

            "When you were unconscious in the hospital you said some curious things and I was wondering what you meant by them."

            He sat down at this and smiled briefly. "I thought you might spill your secret tonight." 

            Ginny gave a start. "Was that the whole plan then? Lure me in to a confidence with you?" she looked every bit as disappointed as she felt, but reprimanded herself by remembering that she'd suspected his motives all along. She let herself be deceived. 

            "I thought so at first, yes. But I don't think that's why I asked you, really," he admitted, looking down at his feet. 

            Ginny smiled despite her earlier disappointment. 

            "So what did I say that was curious?" Draco asked. 

            "I know you were delirious and all, but-," Ginny began rambling. Draco placed a hand over hers and met her eyes, "What did I say?"

            Ginny looked frightened by what she was about to admit, she knew, but she couldn't help it, her heart raced. She thought she might actually have feelings for Draco Malfoy and the thought of what she had to say driving him away was almost too much. 

            "You said that your father had killed your mother," she choked out in one gasp. 

            "That's what I feared," Draco closed his eyes and leaned back. 

            "I know head injuries can cause people to ramble on about nonsense things, but, I don't know. You seemed sort of lucid at the same time. You grabbed my hand and you called me Lucy." Ginny elaborated and watched Draco nervously. She seemed to be hurting him. She shouldn't have brought it up. 

            "Go on," he prompted. 

            Ginny did reluctantly. "At first I thought you were just agitated. Professor Snape had come in just before I did, well, it was actually your father, as it turned out, you know. But you were unconscious during his visit. After he left you were pretty upset. I had to hold your head still. You were thrashing about so much. I was afraid you were going to cause further injury to yourself. That's when you started speaking to me and calling me Lucy. Who is Lucy?" Ginny asked with wide eyes. 

            "My sister," Draco answered simply. 

            Ginny nodded, "That makes sense."

            "So what was it that you found curious about my ranting?" Draco asked finally, after the longest moment of silence between them. 

            "Did he really kill her? I mean, he's your father, yes, but I know he's capable of it. I thought he might-," Ginny started and then stopped suddenly. 

            Draco sat up and stared at her. She recoiled under his gaze and stared at her knees. "You thought he might what, Ginny?" Draco asked firmly, leveling a penetrating stare at her.  He wanted an answer. 

            Her breath came in more labored gasps, memories flooded back in one giant wave overwhelming her. She should have never brought this up. It was almost more than she could handle, it was certainly more than Draco would want to know. 

 "You can tell me," Draco reassured her, squeezing her hand. It felt strange to him to be having this conversation. He was only an understanding person to his sister. With Ginny this was all knew, but it came naturally somehow.

"I thought he might kill me as well," she managed, feeling a warm tear stream down her face. She quickly wiped it away. She would waste no more tears on Tom Riddle or Lucius Malfoy, she was tired of being a victim. "When we were being held in Azkaban, when I was asked to see Voldemort," she stopped for air. Her chest felt heavy. 

            "I remember. I was in the next cell over," he added rubbing her arm comfortingly. "You don't have to say anymore, Ginny. You're safe now. No one is going to hurt you."

            Ginny shook her head and continued, wishing those words could be true. "Voldemort came at me with a knife, your father struck me and I fell. I thought I was never going to leave that awful place alive." Her words were coming in agonizing breaths. There were only a few people in his life that he felt compassion for, his mother who was dead, his sister and now Ginny. 

            He tried to suppress the anger that was welling up inside of him uncontrollably, but somehow he managed to keep it in check. He was good at hiding emotion. 

            They sat there for a while longer, Ginny's hand in Draco's. For the first time in a long time she felt safe from everything that was coming down around her. Tom or Voldemort or whatever he referred to himself as could not get to her where she was. 

            "Come on. I'll walk you home, it's nearly four in the morning," Draco said finally. 

            As they reached the door of Ginny's apartment building, she turned on the step above him and apologized for the damper she'd placed on a really lovely evening. 

            Draco shook his head and smiled up at her from the sidewalk, "I wouldn't call it a damper. The evening was perfect in my opinion." He took her hand and gallantly kissed it. 

            "Goodnight," Ginny offered timidly. She knew he'd seen her blush that time. There was no hiding it. 

            "Goodnight, Ginny," Draco answered before walking away. 

"Wait," Ginny called after a moment, removing his coat. He turned and cocked his head. "What is it?" he asked.

"You've forgotten your coat," she held it out. He laughed slightly and turned, "Keep it for now. I'll get it back later," he called over his shoulder and continued down the walk.

Ginny smiled after him as he left and then turned and entered the apartment building. 

***

Ron watched from across the kitchen table as Hermione distractedly flipped through various books. Unaware of her new quest to find the Founder's chosen ones, Ron merely assumed that she was working on her term paper. 

He was almost regretting not going with Harry to help Fred and George out at the store. He had an ulterior motive for staying behind, however. He wanted to talk to Hermione. But, sitting there observing her attitude of extreme concentration, Ron realized that he would be wasting his time today. She was in a different zone and would not be too conducive to what Ron had to say. 

As he got up to find a better way to employ his time than staring, Hermione stopped flipping pages and turned. 

"Where are you going?" 

"I don't know exactly. Outside, maybe," Ron shrugged.

"No, you're not," Hermione countered decidedly, "You're coming with me to the Museum. There's someone there I need to talk to."

"The Museum!" Ron whined, "It's our bloody holiday, Hermione. I don't want to go to the Museum. I want to sit around and do nothing, be lazy and unproductive. I don't want to do school work or go to the Museum or research," Ron snapped. 

Hermione remained un-phased. Ron would always be Ron. She shook her head, "Ron this is important. And besides, you're not going to win. You're coming to London with me and that's the end of it."

"Why do I have to go?" Ron pouted. 

Hermione smiled, "Because I don't want to go alone. Come with me, please?" She knew that this would work. He wouldn't say no to her. 

He threw up his hands in resignation. 

"Thank you," Hermione simpered, "Grab an umbrella or something. You know how London is in August." She collected her books and drug Ron to the fireplace. She was not yet old enough to Apparate. They would have to use the Floo Network, another thing Ron hated. 

***

The dark path seemed interminable as the pair walked silently on, passing tomb after tomb, bodies in various, but in all cases, late stages of decay. 

The scurrying of rats served as the only noise in the growing chill of the underground channels. 

Severus now had his wand out to provide as much light as possible to their path. 

They came to a courtyard-like opening in the path—only it was dark, not opened to the sky outside. Instead of the view of the outside that most courtyards offered, this one was as black as pitch with an interminable, lofty ceiling. Looking up, he could not tell where the ceiling ended. The walls were painted with various biblical depictions, the life of Christ. 

The wall nearest him, was displayed a fresco of the miracle of the loaves and fish. Christ's hands outstretched, held bread and fish as his disciples distributed the otherworldly food to the masses. 

Severus stepped closer to the figure and noted the measured indifference, which the ancient artist departed to his features. He looked cold and uncaring, exactly the way he would have imagined the deity to look. He stepped away and noted the figure no more. Instead, a movement on the other side of the chamber claimed his attention. 

Arabella was hungrily passing a finger over the image of Christ in the temple. She was looking for something in particular, or she was reading something. Her nose was inches from the painted wall. Coming closer to the place where she stood, he could just make out by the light of his wand Christ surrounded by Pharisees. Beyond this group there were evil looking cherubim like creatures, all considerably shorter than the main subjects. 

"You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father's desire. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies," Arabella whispered, stepping back from the wall to gain the full view of the fresco. 

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Severus prompted holding out a hand to block her progress backward before she ran into him. 

Arabella turned, reluctantly tearing her eyes from the wall and the evil glares of the painted pigmy figures. "John 8:44. Jesus Christ in the Temple at Mount of Olives and the Children of the Devil. If I were looking for a place to hide it, this would be as good a place as any." She turned again and began surveying the wall with both hands. 

"Looking for what?" Severus asked, raising an eyebrow at her behavior. If he hadn't known her for all of these years, he would have thought that she was going rapidly insane. But that was just Arabella. 

"Shhh!" she waved him over and pointed to one of the curious little figures. Unlike the rest of these children of the devil, this one had eyes of emerald—emerald, not just in color, but actually set with the precious stones. They both followed the tiny hand of the painted character as it indicated one of the niches on the next wall over. 

"That's it!" Arabella exclaimed excitedly. 

Severus groaned. Her excitement was a good indicator that trouble was close at hand. If not, she had a way of looking for it and usually finding it. 

"What is it?" he asked, almost not wanting a response. 

"That?" Arabella pointed, "That's a loculus, a niche to store the deceased."

He rolled his eyes. She was always this fecking literal minded when she was evading the truth. It was thoroughly annoying. 

"And why do we care about this particular loculus? We passed a thousand loculi on the way here." 

She did not answer. She was far too busy craning her head over the bones housed in the niche. She moved her hands to the inside walls of the resting place. Prodding with her fingers, where? Severus was sure he didn't want to know. He cringed as he watched her brush the corpse aside. He muttered a slight apology to the detached skull as it stared at him with hollow eye sockets. 

Arabella's head reappeared with a smile plastered to it. "There's an opening at the back. We'll have to climb through. It's a passage, I'm sure of it. There's got to be a secret antechamber back there." She was breathless with excitement.

Severus shook his head. Climbing over a century's worth of bodies. Saints martyred and persecuted, only to find two wannabe adventurers disturbing their rest by crawling over them in an already cramped and confined space didn't' exactly render him giddy with joy. 

"Come on. This will be fun," Arabella prompted with bright eyes and a smile to match. 

Severus shook his head, "I doubt it, but I'm right behind you all the same."

***

The British Museum was in fact the same one that has been a major tourist attraction for muggles of all nationalities for decades. But, for those witches and wizards who visit the Museum, another entirely separate place appeared where muggles were oblivious to its existence. Literally on top of the Museum was its wizarding counterpart. 

Of course, in order to access this exclusive branch, one must know how to locate its entrance. Hermione, of course, knew this. 

Ron shook his head in defeat as the looming building appeared through the rain and dense fog of London as they rounded the corner. He was in the last place in the world he wanted to be right now. Still adjusting his thoughts, he bit his lip thinking to himself that it would be difficult to get Hermione to concentrate on anything much other than schoolwork. But, he wondered, she's got to be wondering what to make out of their bizarre relationship, he was puzzled as to the question himself. He wanted to know where they stood. To bring up the issue delicately was another matter all together. 

He hardly even noticed the sign that changed color, indicating to him and the other pedestrians waiting on the street corner that traffic had cleared. Hermione gave him a nudge, shaking him from his thoughts, and smiled. He shifted her heavy load of books she'd brought with her and scurried to keep up. Hermione was holding the umbrella and he had no desire to be caught unguarded in this down poor. Not with Hermione's books anyway. 

Past the guards and inside the muggle section of the Museum, Hermione made a direct route to a corner, Ron following closely behind, hefting her books in one arm. Under one nondescript staircase, a woman in a knee length skirt and jacket, accompanied by the orthopedic shoes and tight knotted hairdo of ladies her age smiled kindly and welcomed them into the dark under compartment of the stairs. 

Here Hermione walked straight into the solid wall coming out clean on the other side into a vast corridor full of solemn portraits of great sorcerers and alchemists. Ron endeavored to keep up as Hermione walked pointedly toward the far end of the corridor. 

A graying witch only slightly younger than the one they'd just encountered under the stairs smiled down at them from her lofty perch behind a receptionist's desk. 

"How may I be of service?" she asked hospitably. 

"I would like to speak with Dr. Beckett, if I may," Hermione announced taking her books from Ron's straining arms. 

"Dr. Beckett is occupied this moment in a meeting, I'm afraid," the woman said, affecting a tone as if she were deeply hurt to have to impart such disappointing news. 

Hermione was unaffected by the news and continued, "I'm a friend of Arthur Weasley's. Mr. Beckett is expecting me. Hermione Granger, we've spoken before, he'll recognize the name, I assure you." Her no nonsense tone was slightly off putting in one so young. The older woman's surprise was evident as she sputtered and shuffled papers. "I'll see what I can do, Ms. Granger, but he is rather busy."

"It would probably be worth his while to hear what I have to say." Hermione added in the same unaffected monotone. 

The receptionist ushered Ron and Hermione into a small room filled to the ceiling with books were Hermione sat down immediately and began rereading her vast collection of notes. 

Closing the door on the odd pair, the receptionist shook her head and started for the office of her superior, just two doors further down the hall. Knocking briefly, the woman waited for the sound of Dr. Beckett's voice which came moments later to bid her come in. 

She blushed slightly as Dr. Beckett's guest stood and smiled at her. 

"Well, I must be going anyway. I've got two other investors to fill in. They've been hassling me for progress reports for weeks now," the dark haired man said shaking the hand of Dr. Beckett simultaneously.

"I suspect Dorothy was doing the majority of the hassling?" the worn historian smiled and shook his head. "I don't see Ella kicking up much of a fuss, especially while in Paris. She's probably out every night." He laughed at the thought of his elderly but wiry friend and her affinity for nightlife society. Ella was quite a lively woman for her age. "Ah, but don't worry, Sirius," he joked, "she always holds a special place for you in her heart, she adores you, those Frenchmen don't have a chance."

"Very funny, Grayson. You'd think I was some sort of widow hunter the way you talk." As he said this he smirked slyly and winked in the receptionists direction. "I'll keep in touch," he added shrugging on his black leather jacket in a way that caused a second wave of blushing on the part of the receptionist who watched after the dark, leather clad man until he'd disappeared around the corner and into the long corridor. 

"What can I do for you, Emily?" Dr. Beckett chuckled, observing the altered behavior of his receptionist whenever Sirius Black was in his office. She was a different woman around him. Tongue-tied, always blushing, that was the way Sirius usually rendered women. 

"A Hermione Granger is waiting for you in the reference hall."

"Ah, perfect. Please tell the young lady I will be with her shortly," Dr. Beckett smiled. Emily nodded and retreated to carry out the order. 


	10. The Museum

Disclaimer: I own my plot and my characters. Mine, not yours. Rowling's are Rowling's, yeah, shocker, I know. 

Author's Note: I'd like to inform my readers that if you didn't pick up on what was going on in the last scene, yeah, you're not supposed to. It will be explained—I promise.

Chapter 10

The Museum 

_"Oh, my soul._

_Sometimes we don't know what to do_

_We work so hard being tough on our own_

_But now it's me and you_

_Let's give it up, sad bones_

_'Cause we are following hard times _

_But you don't have to stand up all alone_

_Just put your hand in mine…"_

_Caedmon's Call: 'Climb On'_

            Hermione studiously explored the contents of the vast bookshelves and walls in the tiny conference room she and Ron had been made to wait in for a chance to speak with the leading Founder's Historian at the Museum. 

            Dr. Grayson Beckett was an authority on the four founders of Hogwarts and a friend of Arthur Weasely's Hermione was quick to find out. In a chance conversation at the table, one morning, weeks ago, Hermione had brought up the fact that she'd been researching the founding of the school for a paper. Eager as he always was to help, Mr. Weasely had suggested that she look up his old school acquaintance at the Museum. 

            She'd done this back in the beginning of July and found Dr. Beckett a warm and kind older man with an extensive knowledge of all things founder-related. Apparently taken by the eager student Hermione was, with a natural interest in his area of study, the two had become fast friends on their first meeting and on parting he'd urged her to come and visit often. Consequently, she'd promised him a copy of her seventh year thesis to critique. 

            Hermione could feel Ron's eyes boring into her as she took and examining turn around the room. She would deal with whatever it was that was bothering him later. At the moment, she had bigger things occupying her mind. 

            She stopped at a rustic map on the wall. Hands clasped behind her back—a habit she'd acquired on her many museum visits since childhood, she stared intently at its lines. She'd always had to fight the urge to grab up whatever it was she was inspecting for a closer look. 

            This map was curious. It was a castle. That was easy enough to see. But the curious bit was that it was a crannog, an island keep in the middle of a loch, only the keep was too big for the actual mound of earth it sat on in the middle of the loch. Staring at it from different angles, Hermione noticed that some lines disappeared and reappeared, depending on her vantage point. A sort of narrow land bridge disappeared and reappeared as well. Magically enlarged, she guessed. The castle must be expanded by magic to fit on such a small surface. Located somewhere in Scotland, she thought, that's where these types of castles usually stood. 

            For a long while she silently studied the curves and tunnels, staircases and hidden passages, all the time thinking how fun it would be to explore that place in person. 

            She heard the creak of hinges, announcing a newcomer. She turned to note the weary but delighted face of Dr. Beckett. 

            "Hello, Miss Granger. How can I be of service?"

            Hermione rushed away from the wall to shake the historian's hand politely then collected her notes, still mentally adjusting what she wanted to reveal—not everything of course. 

            She took a seat next to a bored Ron as Dr. Beckett sat across from him. 

            Noticing the resemblance to his schoolmate Arthur Weasely, Dr. Beckett introduced himself to Ron and politely enquired after his father. Ron answered all questions with a degree of civility, but also impatience. 

            Hermione shook her head. He really had no idea how important all of this was. That was her fault, really. But she was still debating on the best way to approach the conversation, for both him and Harry. She would have to fill them in and soon. The evidence for Harry as Gryffindor's chosen one was mounting and Ginny was already marked as Hufflepuff's. If she had any guess about what lie ahead for these two, not to mention the mysterious Ravenclaw chosen, it would not be pleasant or easy and everything would depend on them. 

            Hermione brought out a sheet of notes, which she ran a deft finger down. She was looking for a note that she'd left in the margin on one of these pages after she'd found something alarming.

            "How is the paper coming?" Dr. Beckett asked with a smile, "Don't tell me you've finished already?"

            Hermione shook her head and smiled, "Hardly. I'm still at the research stage. That's what I've come to ask you about." She bit her lip. How was she to proceed without sounding like a raging lunatic? She plunged on anyway, "What do you know about the Chosen three of the Founders?"

***

            "Stop pouting and eat!" Severus commanded as Arabella glared at him from across the table. They sat at a small café in the midst of the charming medieval town of Ravenna. 

            "I still think we were very close—too close to quit," she said, leaning back and folding her arms like an angry three-year-old. 

            Severus shook his head. "We're not quitting. We are human and humans have to eat. Your way was a dead end. So, after we've finished here we'll get some provisions, some proper torches (because wand light gets irritating after a while) some sleep (because you look like hell) and then we'll have another go, and do you know why we will succeed this time, whereas our last trip into the underground failed?"

            Arabella clenched her jaws. He could see the muscles working. He was annoying her for a change and he rather enjoyed it. She answered after a moment, "Because I am a gung ho Gryffindor who charges ahead unthinkingly into the abyss, unprepared and ill-equipped and no match for your superior Slytherin intellect," she held a sarcastic monotone, "which, might I point out, this Gryffindor was the one who found the passage in the first place. It just so happens that there's a trick to getting into it."

            Severus nodded patiently and waited for her rambling to stop. "And you were getting frustrated and banging your fists against the wall, which never helps a situation. We'll find out how to open that wall, I promise. But we won't figure it out tonight. Tonight we'll sleep and tomorrow we'll go back down there and figure out a way in." 

            She continued to scowl and Severus returned to his food. "And the Gryffindor comment was not what I was going for. I think you're uncommonly clever for a former Gryffindor."

***

            As usual, Friday afternoon found Ginny counting down the minutes until her shift was over. She had grand plans for tonight: crash hard on the sofa and stay there until she had to get up tomorrow. 

            She'd spent another night awake, trying to remember her dreams that had startled her awake. She felt that each time she'd had these dreams; they were slipping further and further through the grasp of her memory. She knew that it was extremely important to remember all that she could, but it was becoming impossible. She was frustrated to no end. She needed a distraction to take her mind off of it all. 

            The distraction came just after she'd wished for it and she couldn't fight the uncommon smile that lit her face and heated her cheeks. Draco walked into the coffee shop and smiled back, a cool, elegant smile. Damn him! He was always so graceful. She looked clunky and unrefined by comparison. 

            She felt a nudge from behind as Sohpie winked at her and slung a dishtowel over her shoulder. 

            "Leave early," Sophie prodded, "I 'ave everything under control 'ere. Besides, you need a little fun. You study too much." She narrowed her silver-blue eyes pointedly in Draco's direction and Ginny smiled. 

            "Thanks, Sophie," Ginny said, "I owe you one!"

            "Zat's no problem, Virginie. Just convince your cute brother, Bill, to date me." She winked and shrugged her shoulders elegantly. That wasn't a bad idea, Ginny thought. She was a very nice girl, and pretty. Ginny hated the stupid bimbo Bill had brought home last week. Sophie was a step in the right direction, as far as Ginny was concerned. 

            Draco was conversing with Sophie as she made his latte and flirted shamelessly and Ginny hurried to the back to remove her apron and grab her bag as fast as she could lest Sophie take her beguiling small talk too far. 

            "Thanks again, Sophie!" Ginny called over her shoulder, heading for the door. Draco smiled after her and waved, following Ginny out the door and onto the street. 

            "Anytime, Ginnie!" Sophie shouted after her with an amused smile on her face. 

            Out on the street Ginny was debating whether she should take offense to the attention Draco paid to Sophie, but reminded herself rationally that she and Draco were not in a relationship, to speak of. It would be silly to think that. They'd only spent about a week together. Granted, it had been the best week of Ginny's life, it meant nothing more than an unlikely friendship. She could reconcile herself to that easily. He was sarcastic and unforgiving sometimes, and very closed off on certain topics of conversation, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. It was just the sort of challenge she enjoyed. 

            "You don't look well," Draco said after a minute of silence between the two, then added quickly, "I only mention it out of concern. I'm not trying to be impertinent."

            After hearing this first part she looked sideways at him and began to defend herself, but nodded at his amendment, "I know. I haven't slept much lately. It's probably test anxiety, finals are coming up in three weeks."

            Draco could tell when most people were lying, and Ginny was lying now. Something was very wrong, but he would pry no further. He spurned interference himself and respected Ginny's wish to keep her secret. He was grateful for the change of conversation that Ginny issued as means of distraction. 

            "I've been meaning to ask you, but I didn't want to seem nosy, but—I mean, I know you hate questions and you don't like to talk about your family, but…"

            "But what? What do you want to know? As long as it has nothing to do with my mother, I'll answer any question you want answered." He smiled reassuringly and Ginny smiled back briefly before averting her eyes to the ground. They were headed toward Ginny's favorite bit of grass in the park, next to the pond. 

            "Your sister, Lucy. How old is she? I haven't seen her at Hogwarts. I know I haven't been there in over a year. Did she just start?" Ginny had been curious about this mysterious sister she'd never heard of until last week when Draco had first mentioned her. She remembered back to the summer before her third year, the summer of the Quidditch World Cup. She'd seen his family there, or at least all the family she thought he'd had. She remembered betraying a small shudder as his father's cold eyes fell on her with brief disdain and how unhappy his mother had looked, like she would rather be someplace else, but there was no sister, just Draco. 

            "She goes to school here, in France. She just turned fourteen in April."

            "You mean Beauxbatons? But I went there last year. I didn't see her," Ginny thought out loud. 

            "Yes, but you're nearly two years older than her. The lower years are separated in a more strict fashion there than they are at Hogwarts, am I right?"

            "Yes, I suppose that's the reason. But I don't think I've ever seen her, even in passing. I just thought that if she had your conspicuous hair color I would have recognized her immediately."

            "I have a conspicuous hair color?" Draco asked incredulously, staring pointedly at Ginny's flaming hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. 

            She laughed and conceded, "You're right. I have no room to talk."

            She picked her spot and leaned back on her shady oak, closing her eyes and letting the summer breeze blow over her face. "I'd like to meet her sometime, but I don't suppose that would be possible if she doesn't go to our school," her voice betrayed a slight disappointment. 

            "She's here, you know? Not here in Paris, but in France, at my grandmother's house in Caen. I think she's anxious to meet you as well. I've told her about your medical internship and that. She's very interested in medical magic." 

            Ginny was flattered by the fact that Draco had even mentioned her to his sister. She looked down at her knees to hide a very amused grin. 

            He continued, "I'm leaving tonight to join them there for the weekend. You could come for the weekend as well. I'm sure my grandmother and Lucy would be more than pleased to have you." He stood and shoved his hands in his pocket. She was beginning to interpret this as a sign of nervousness. She smiled up at him, unsure of how to reply. "I know you're not working this weekend. I've already asked Sophie." He grinned slyly.

            Over the past six days, they'd spent nearly every one of them in each other's company. She had thought about her visions and dreams less and noticed that he was not nearly as sarcastic as when she'd first met him in Paris. She enjoyed his company and he was fast becoming a friend she valued. But she still could not fight that tiny voice in the back of her mind that reminded her constantly that she was nowhere good enough for him. A lowly Ministry worker's daughter had no right to associate with a higher class, Malfoy's class. She shrugged the voice away. Her conscience was sounding annoyingly like Ron. 

            Forget about all of that. She deserved a holiday and she was going to take up his invitation and enjoy this weekend. 

            "How much time do I have to pack?" she smiled, reaching for his hand to pull her up off of the grass. 

            "Plenty of time. I'm leaving at seven."

            She checked her watch. It was nearly four-thirty now. 

            "We'll go in my car. The French countryside at night looks better from inside a convertible."

            She smiled and shook her head. Now he was showing off. Draining the last of Draco's latte, Ginny discarded the cup and walked home quickly, eager to leave enough time to wash the coffee smell out of her hair. 

***

            Dr. Beckett blinked at the surprising question. "That's just a myth, it's been debated for centuries by the most knowledgeable scholars. But no conclusive evidence suggests there ever was such an alliance."

            "Could you tell me what sort of evidence there is, conclusive or not?" Hermione persisted. 

            "Well, we know that Salazar Slytherin was executed by the order of the heirs of the other three founders, after he'd murdered them and several others in connection with them. The only account we have of these events comes several hundred years later by an heir of Helga Hufflepuff. We doubt its accuracy because of the length of time that has passed between the actual event and the earliest record."

            Hermione could feel herself becoming impatient. Did all scholars skirt the issue like that? She would try another avenue, "How about people close to the Founders who were of no relation to them at all?" 

            "No relation? You mean of no blood relation? Well, Helga had a stepdaughter two years older than her son by the same man, Azria. She was of no blood relation."

            "But what about the two others, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor?" Hermione fought the impatience that was growing in her, causing her to fidget. She already knew that the Alliance existed, even if Dr. Beckett was skeptical. And she knew who Hufflepuff's chosen one was. 

            "Rowena Ravenclaw had an adopted child of unknown parentage five years the junior of her heir, Galahad. And Gryffindor…" Dr. Beckett trailed off thinking hard and removing his glasses to rub at his eyes. 

            This was the one Hermione was most anxious to learn about. She had exhausted all means of conventional research in looking for Faramir, Godric's squire. 

            "There was one account, written by the hand of Godric's son and heir, Isaiah about an insolent squire that was at one time in favor with his father before his death. It goes into great detail about a duel, a tournament of sorts over a sword that Godric had given to Faramir that was rightfully the property of Isaiah." He paused and collected his thoughts. 

            Hermione was on the edge of her seat. If Faramir was killed in that duel, than the chosen line would have been broken and all is already lost. "And what happened in the tournament? Who won?"

            "No one. The tournament was dissolved. Isaiah was made to settle instead for an exile. Faramir left and took the coveted sword with him. In reply to this action, it is generally believed that Isaiah murdered Faramir's family in his absence, but that is just hearsay, not supportable fact."

            "And Faramir's family, what were they. They must have been lower class to have a son loaned out as a squire and all," Hermione asked feebly, not being able to speak above a constricted whisper. That was a horrible story, and for some reason, she knew it was true. She'd seen the way Isaiah glared with murderous intent at Faramir as Godric presented his sword to him. 

            "Oh, nothing more than peasants, they were actually the town's best family of potters."

            Hermione betrayed a small gasp at this last bit. It was the concrete piece of evidence she needed to be absolutely positive. 

            She thanked Dr. Beckett politely and drug Ron out of the Museum behind her, promising the obliging historian that he would be receiving a copy of her thesis in the near future. 

***

            Severus knew something was wrong when they were there underground. It was something in the malevolent way that Child of Satan smiled at them, suggesting that they would meet a horrible fate if they'd followed where he indicated. Add to that the growing fear that someone was watching them, and it smelled like an ambush. 

            He was no coward. He'd seen far worse places and things than a couple of centuries old bones in an underground lair. But he was also cautious. He needed to be extra cautious, he'd reminded himself, for Arabella's lack of anything resembling caution. She was one to blindly charge ahead, risking everything for a clue to the ever-growing enigma of Voldemort's next big plan. 

            He had never been so frivolous, and he wasn't going to start now. Maybe a week or more of research, finding out everything they can on that curious antechamber and then they could proceed with the crawling through bones and dust and rats—the stuff Arabella enjoyed.

            She had closed the door to her room with a glare and a scowl. She was being childish and he would have to put up with it. Having very few true friends made him wary of losing the ones he had. He was protective of this one in particular because she was reckless. She'd always wanted to be Indiana Jones. 

            He opened the blinds a crack to catch a glimpse of the moon and instead, found his sights trained on two dark figures half hidden in the shadow of an alleyway. He saw the eyes of one of them and they were oddly familiar. Familiar to him was usually the dangerous sort of familiar–old affiliations sort of familiar.   


	11. The Norman Coast

Disclaimer: What you don't recognize from Rowling's books belongs to me unless otherwise specified. 

Author's Note: I just want to take a moment to beg shamelessly for reviews. I've realized that I rather enjoy hearing from those that read my story. So please, if you like what you're reading let me know. And if not, please let me know as well. And what can I say to those of you who don't like it? I'm sorry? I'll try harder next time?

Chapter Eleven

The Norman Coast

_"Once I thought my innocence was gone_

_Now I know that happiness goes on_

_That's where you found me_

_When you put your arms around me_

_I haven't been there for the longest time…"_

Billy Joel: 'For the Longest Time' 

            Ron stopped in the middle of the crowded street, wrenching his arm out of Hermione's vice grip. "What is the matter with you? You're running as if someone were chasing you." 

            Hermione dropped half of her books on the rain sodden street as Ron's sudden movement put her off balance. She knelt down to retrieve them. Her hands shook and she dropped the other equally wet through books in her arms. Finally, the small notebook, still held fast in her white-knuckled grip, the thin cardboard that housed those small and terrifying coincidences and predictions, all coming true to foretell something bigger than all of them. Was there a way to stop this? Hermione felt helpless. She didn't even know what it was that loomed so ominously on the horizon. Whatever it was Harry and Ginny were committed to it unknowingly and she felt their danger acutely. Another was also committed to this battle of the ages, of good and evil—such a cliché, Hermione was aware of this, but there was no other word that lent the situation its full weight. The other chosen one was still out there, unnamed, unknown, unaware of their uphill battle against an enemy hundreds of years old. In desperation, she flung the small, wet article against the wall of the record shop they had stopped in front of, nearly clipping the leg of a hurrying businessman. She sat down on the wet and filthy London sidewalk, aware all the time of Ron's scrutinizing and unmoving stare. 

            "What's going on, Hermione?" he asked, a little more warily this time. 

            She didn't have the words or the voice to respond, she only shook her head. 

            Ron busied himself with collecting the mass of books and papers that she'd scattered about the sidewalk, and finally collected his friend. Taking her by the arm, he led her to the deserted alley behind the record shop, strewn with soggy cardboard boxes and puddles of rainwater. Hesitating a bit, Ron let go of Hermione long enough to produce his wand. Taking Hermione's hand again, he Apparated both of them back to the safety of the Burrow. 

***

            "Madame," the house elf in front of him squealed, opening a door to a bright and elegantly appointed sitting room, "Sirius Black is here to see you, Madame."

            Gisella smiled warmly and thanked the house elf, who retreated.

            "Hello, Ella. You're looking well," Sirius said, moving into the room to kiss her cheek. 

            "Oh, I do not. I'm an old woman and look very ill, I assure you. But you are a shameless flatterer, you always have been," Ella laughed. 

            Sirius walked aimlessly around the room. He'd been here many times. Ella was like a second mother to him and he'd always felt as comfortable in her house as in his own home with his mother. One sight, wholly unfamiliar to this room's usual appointment, caused him to stop suddenly in painful remembrance. He moved closer to the instrument and place a tentative finger on the blood red hue of its scroll. 

            "Dale's cello," he said in a low voice, unaware of Ella's eyes, which had followed him around the room. Her laugh recalled him from his recollection. 

            "Lord bless you, I haven't heard her called that in the longest time," she stopped a moment and her expression darkened slightly, "I miss her so much." 

            "She played beautifully. I remember spending much of my seventh year holed up in the Owlery listening to her, entranced even. I think I was in love with her then," Sirius smiled and turned to the window out of which was a perfect view of the Bay of the Seine and the English Channel beyond that. His attention rested on two figures on horseback, a boy on a chestnut and black horse, Dale's boy no doubt, his platinum blond hair was visible even from that far away. Next to him on a less sure-footed steed of a tan color sat a wobbly redhead, her ponytail bouncing wildly as she bounced precariously along the mouth of the River Orne. 

            "She talked of you often, I don't mind saying now that she's gone. She would have been mortified for you to know that if she were still here. I think she was always in love with you, dear boy," Ella smiled, causing Sirius to blush slightly. He turned back to the two young riders on the beach to avoid Ella's penetrating gaze. 

            "Have you been playing?" She asked as means of subject change. 

            "I haven't picked up the violin since before I went to prison," Sirius shook his head, dismissively. That, in fact, wasn't wholly true. He'd played for Remus. 'Danny Boy'; the last song he'd ever play. His violin was Remus' now. Sirius would never play again. The three people who'd ever encouraged him to practice harder at it were dead. Remus, Dale and his mother, June, were the whole of his audience. 

            "That's a shame. You were a true talent, dear. Dale was very envious of you at school." She laughed again. It was good, Sirius thought, for both of them to share their memories of a lost friend and daughter. It helped them not to miss her so much, even though she'd been dead for nearly a year and a half. Most of their meetings as of late had been all business. Sirius never talked of his late school friend with her mother. Only the sight of her beloved cello had prompted him to do so now. 

            "Anyway," Ella began with a smile, "it belongs to her daughter now, Lucy. She plays just as beautifully as her mother ever did." Ella smiled with all of the pride of a grandmother when talking of the accomplishments of her grandchildren. 

            Sirius sat across from Ella. "I didn't know that she had a daughter. I only knew of her son." 

            Ella nodded gravely, "You've been gone a long time, Sirius. Things change, I'm sorry to say. But I'm not sorry about some things, my grandchildren being two of them. Their father is a horrid man. But those two are more her children than his. She had more of an influence over them than he would ever hope to. I intend to keep it that way." Anger flashed in her eyes. Dale's husband was always unsafe territory with Ella. She was a kind and charitable woman, but her kindness never extended far enough to include Lucius Malfoy. 

            Narcissa Dale Bertrand became Narcissa Dale Malfoy the summer after Sirius' third year in law school. It was a shock for anyone who'd known Dale from school or was in anyway connected with the Bertrand family. Dale and her family had moved to England the summer after her sixth year at Beauxbatons. She and Sirius had become fast friends after discovering each other's passion for the strings. Sirius would spend many hours later in life wishing he'd been the first to win Dale's heart. But she was dead now and that was the end of that. 

            Sirius shook the thought from his mind and set to work. This was a business meeting and business would not be put off. 

            Gisella Bertrand was one of four financial investors in the underground operation that used non-Ministry channels to close in on the supporters of Voldemort. Sirius was also one of these investors and the coordinator of all field operations. Their goal was to bring down the very inner circle of Voldemort's crime and terrorism syndicate before they grew too powerful to be dealt with. Already, the Dark Faction's abilities and connections were growing worrisomely out of hand. It wouldn't be long before all was over—one way or another. 

***

            Fiddling with the lock that held the wheels of her chair to their spot, Lucy stared out of the large library windows and onto the beach where Draco and Ginny were disappearing around the beachhead with a mixture of envy, despair and relief. She would never let any of these emotions gain the better part of her. The only part of these she'd even pay any mind to was relief, but it wasn't relief for her, it was for her brother. 

            She'd seen the effects of her father's sway over him for years now. It had scared her sometimes. When he was younger, it was normal for him to spout their father's tired dogma about a pure wizarding world, cleansing it of the mudblood filth that clogged its arteries now. It was practically drilled into him at a young age, as long as Lucy could remember, in fact. As she watched Draco grow into his own person, she found that he was fighting their father's beliefs more in favor of examining all of the facts for himself, coming to his own conclusions. 

            Sure, her worry might seem a little hypocritical to anyone who wasn't close to the situation (and really no one was close to it. With their mother gone, Lucy was the only one around to counteract her father's effects on her brother). At a very young age, her father had determined that Lucy was a weakling, not worthy to take up his mantle as he was teaching Draco to do. She, mercifully, had been left to her mother's teachings. She grew to appreciate everything and everyone on an individual basis. She saw the flaws in the muggle way of life and government, but also its advances and accomplishments. Likewise, the wizarding world had its flaws and immense beauty and worth. All this, her mother taught her to recognize while Draco was drilled in the art of dueling and trained to recite the ten Pillars of the Dark Faction. If it weren't for her mother's gentle and subtle influence over Draco, he would have been beyond reach a long time ago. 

            But still. Lucy's influence, though kindly received, was waning. She wasn't as strong as her mother, though her conviction was no less genuine. Her father's beliefs were wrong. Draco was on a precarious edge between what was right and all that was wrong and threatening to invade the innocent people of the wizarding and muggle worlds alike. 

            She couldn't explain how she knew it, but she felt that Draco's situation was a vital one. Win him for the wrong side, and the Dark Lord would be invincible. The way of life that they had all thrived upon would falter under his tyrannical rule. Good would die and evil would rule indefinitely. 

            Her relief came yesterday when she'd met Ginny Weasley. 

            She could tell immediately that this slight, fiery redhead had the sort of influence over Draco that Lucy had despaired of losing. Lucy was in no doubt that her brother still adored her very much, but she feared that she could not be around him often enough to remind him to examine first and judge second. He began to treat her differently after her accident three summers ago. He was more protective of her and had taken up a role as her guardian rather than the one he'd served before as brother and friend. He listened to her advice less and spent more time worrying about her more. She knew that it was not her job to carry out her mother's lessons in grace and forgiveness anymore. 

            Ginny was the one that had to protect him from his father's warped plans now. And she had to do it so as not to arouse Draco's suspicion. He would spurn any sort of guidance or protection if he were aware of it. Ginny had all of the kindness and patience that Lucy's mother had possessed, she saw it immediately. The other point that struck her upon meeting Ginny, Lucy was particularly pleased to note, was that she evidently loved Draco. 

She may not even know it yet, but Lucy knew it for certain. She was adept at character reading. She delighted in catching someone's eye at the hospital or at school and taking a peek at their soul. Not a gift, per se, but an attuned observation exercise. It was particularly helpful around her father's friends. That was how she discovered Professor Snape's disguise as Bartemius Crouch, Jr. Lucy kicked herself mentally at the thought. If she were as wise as she always gave herself credit for being, she would have warned Professor Snape that the rest of Voldemort's party was on to him as well, but that, she never did. Many lives were lost when Hogwarts had been invaded. She wasn't the angel everyone took her for. She had the blood of many innocents on her hands. 

But she knew a blessing when she saw one and Ginny was an answer to her prayers. 

***

"She likes you. I can tell that much," Draco offered with a smile, Emile's hooves padding a soft rhythmic beat into the soft sand of the beach. 

Ginny laughed and shook her head, "How can you tell?"

"She let you ride Master Shakespeare. No one rides that horse. Lucy's fiercely protective of him." Draco directed Emile alongside the sandy colored horse that bore Ginny and gently reached over to correct the way she held the horse's reigns. She was a fast learner, but she still flopped about too much. But her seat would improve if she kept at it. She could make a fine horsewoman. 

"She's sweet. I like her very much," Ginny began, but hesitated, biting her lip and also the question that begged to be answered. Ginny would not be impertinent and poke her nose in other people's business, especially not the business of a precious girl like Lucy. 

Draco remained silent, looking ahead of them at the harbor where a couple of fishing boats were heading in for the day. He knew what it was that Ginny was fearing to ask but desperate to know all the same. He spoke after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. "You want to know what happened to her, don't you?" His voice contained an almost tangible edge, but he remained patient. 

Ginny recoiled slightly. She knew that this was thin ice she was treading. She might have wandered onto a topic that she'd do better to leave alone. She was about to apologize and humbly admit that it was none of her business when Draco did something wholly unexpected and uncharacteristic: he let her in. 

"The emergency staff was told that it was a riding accident when she was brought in," he began. The sharp edge never left his voice. "Any medical assistant flunky could tell straight away that those injuries were not because of a fall. Well, maybe if the horse had trampled her. But it wasn't a horse." He would not look at Ginny, only straight ahead. His jaw was set in hard lines, but his face was expressionless. Ginny was heartbroken and terrified all at once. He made it seem so easy to be a brick wall. He seemed as though none of this had bothered him, that it was inconsequential. He was raised this way. Though, she knew how much it must have hurt, how helpless he must have felt, how terrified he must have been for Lucy at that moment. 

"There's something you must understand about Lucy. She is unrelentingly antagonistic. Her favorite pastime used to be spying and she was good at it. With all of the secret meetings that took place among my father and his associates, she had plenty of opportunity. On a handful of occasions she was caught and I intervened as often as I could. But one afternoon, the day that the Hogwarts Express was to arrive at King's Cross Station at the end of my fourth year, I was on it and unable to stop my father." His eyes were glazed over with a sort of automatic indifference, only his voice betrayed his guilt, and only then it was the slightest waver in tone. In all other respects he was collected, as if he was merely relaying a weather report. 

"He was unforgiving. It was just after that whole incident with Potter and Diggory. She never told me what it was that she was listening in on, but it must have been vital to the Faction. She nearly died. And the doctors looked the other way. My father owned them all." He was so numb to the emotions that he must have felt that day, the terrifying reality of how close he'd come to losing his sister, that he wondered how long Ginny's hand had been clasped in his when he finally noticed that it was. He hadn't felt much after that but a fierce need to protect Lucy at all costs and the intense and blinding hatred for the man that had nearly taken her away, the same man that had taken his mother away, just later that same year. 

He chanced a look at Ginny who was staring back in astonishment and sympathy, a tear rolled down her cheek. Hey, that story was worth a tear at least, even if it was impossible for Draco to do so. He was glad for it. He would have shed a tear for Lucy if he could. But crying was as alien as poverty to him. He didn't even understand it. But he felt as much as any human could endure to feel in that situation. It hurt him to see Lucy so broken, the memory of it hurt just as much. He swallowed hard. 

"I'm sorry," Ginny managed through wide-eyed sadness. Draco feared that it might've been too much to relate all at once, but lately it just didn't feel right to keep things from her. She was slowly becoming a steady fixture in his life—a pleasant, warm and kind sort of fixture for a change.

He didn't let go of her hand. It was the first time he'd made a real human connection with anyone—been completely open and honest, let his guard down. Even around his mother and his sister, he was closed off in the smallest degree. He held some things apart from them. But Ginny was different. It was the way she ignored his arrogance, looked past his faults, discarded his potential as anything other than human and in need of love just as much as the next. Lucy loved him, true. But she loved him in spite of his faults, as did his mother. Ginny seemed to love him entirely, faults included—and that was something wholly new to him. He wasn't eager to let that connection go. He might have been imagining the whole thing entirely. 

"I can't believe that it took all of that, nearly losing her, to make me see it. My father's not the hero I used to think he was." Draco spurned Emile further on and Ginny followed more precariously behind him on Master Shakespeare.  

***

Sirius had relayed all pertinent information to Ella, leaving his meeting with Peter out of conversation. Arabella was the only person privy to that information other than Sirius himself. 

Ella was suspicious. She knew he was leaving things out. But she realized, unlike the other investors, how much he had tied up in this covert investigation. His godson was one of Voldemort's most hunted victims. One of his best friends from school was at Voldemort's beck-and-call. His other two friends were dead as a result of the one's betrayal. He'd lost twelve years of his life in a jail cell meant for someone else. His mother had died virtually alone while he served out another's rightful sentence. And the list of grievances that Sirius could have claimed against the Dark Faction, and Mr. Pettigrew specifically, would go on and on until this was stopped permanently. 

Ella was not without a personal stake in this struggle that they were fighting in vain hopes that good would someday win out. Her daughter had been killed for her part in it. Dale had been passing information against Voldemort and her husband in the very last months leading up to her death. She was taking up where her daughter left off, if not for the sake of the wizarding world at large, than for her two grandchildren that had been born into the middle of all of it. She was doing it for them mostly, and for revenge partly. Lucius Malfoy would be safe behind bars or better yet dead by the time Gisella Bertrand drew her last breath. 

Feeling her anger rising with the thought of her insipid son-in-law, Ella pushed the thought to the back of her mind, in hopes that it would motivate her better to think on him when her anger might be put to a profitable use—planning a lawsuit against him perhaps. He may be powerful inside his circles and out as well, but she still had influence of her own, honest influence, which counted for more than bribery. She would have custody of Lucy by the end of the year. That was a sure thing. 

"You understand, of course, that you are under no obligation to me to accecpt. I could easily find a hundred lawyers willing to take up the case. But I wanted to offer it to you first off. You are the best there is," Gisella said with a smile, continuing with her proposal that Sirius head up her case against Lucius Malfoy. "It would be open and shut. He is an unfit parent. He nearly beat her to death. And besides, he never wanted anything to do with her. He wanted to drown her at the age of three. It was Dale that made him reconsider." 

Sirius shook his head. The entire story was overwhelming. How could someone beat an eleven-year-old child to within an inch of her life, leaving her paralyzed from the waist down? Of course he wanted to help Gisella gain custody of the child, even though he'd never met her, he was automatically endeared to her because of her mother. But he had other responsibilities that came before his duty to his friend and her daughter. He was heading up a very large and very secret organization that may be the only hope that the wizarding community might ever have to be rid of the dark tyrant that they'd lived in fear of for so long. He had a duty to Harry, whom he hadn't even seen in two and a half months. Anything that would keep him from fulfilling his promise to James in raising his son would have to take its place on the back burner for a while. At least until the threat to Harry's life had been removed completely. That might be a very long time in coming. 

He felt awful, but he could not commit to a task that formidable with all of the other pressing matters he had to attend to at the moment. With much regret, he turned Ella down. 

"I understand. It would have been easy to win the case if you had taken it up. But I can find another representative just as easily. I know you've got other things to worry about, dear. And it always seems to slip my mind that you have a child of your own to look after." Ella smiled, but with disappointment. 

"Yes, I have. But he's actually not all that young. He turned seventeen a few weeks ago. He's always attracting trouble, you see. He's had a few near misses with Voldemort and all. He really is a full time job to protect all on his own. Not that I'm complaining, I love him as if he were my own and that's why I have to turn you down, Ella. I'm very sorry," Sirius frowned. He would like to see Lucy out of her father's custody, the same as Ella. But he couldn't possibly take on such a task. 

"Oh," she waved a dismissive hand, seeing him to the door, "don't be sorry, dear. You do what you can. I can't blame you for that." She leaned over to kiss her young friend, "You take care of yourself now and Harry as well. I'll be in touch with you if I find out anything at this end. Goodbye, love."

***

"Jesus!" was Ron's ineloquent, wide-eyed response to the entirely unbelievable circumstances that Hermione related to him. She sat in her bathrobe and wet hair, with her feet propped up on the windowsill of the sitting room in the Burrow, sipping her hot chocolate with a completely unsurprised expression. She knew it would blow Ron away. The shock would wear off momentarily. 

"We should tell someone, shouldn't we?" was his next comment, showing that he was coming out of it just fine. 

Hermione shook her head, blowing the steam from her mug. "Who would we tell? You saw the look Dr. Beckett gave me when I'd mentioned the founders and their chosen ones. He thought I was mental. No one would believe us," she said with authority. 

"I'm not sure I believe you, Hermione," Ron said weakly. 

She leveled an incredulous glare at him. "We don't even know what Voldemort has in mind. I really haven't found out much. The other chosen one is still a mystery to me. Ginny's got the Pensieve with her. I don't know what she's found out from it. Not much I gather. She was supposed to let me know if she came across anything."

"How are you going to tell Harry? If you're sure it's Harry, even," Ron said doubtfully. He was becoming infuriating. Did he think that she was making this all up for her own amusement? She wasn't that bored out of school. 

"Tell Harry what?" a voice from the hall behind them asked suspiciously. Both Ron and Hermione turned slowly to see Harry standing there, very interested in why his name had come up in their conversation. 

Well, best to get it all out there now than put it off, Hermione thought. 

"You better have a seat, Harry. This may take a while to explain," Hermione admitted, causing Harry to glance suspiciously at Ron and then back at her before doing as she instructed. And she began the whole incredible tale over again, leaving out no details. 


	12. Puccini and the Paris Opera House

Disclaimer: Same old sh**t. I don't own any of it. You can take it all if you want it. 

Author's Note: My little sis has been begging me to dedicate one of my original characters to her and so I gave her a choice among my very unorthodox originals: a mysterious Slytherin girl, a Malfoy or a Dursley and she's picked the Malfoy. Crazy girl! 

Anyway, Lucy Malfoy is now officially dedicated to Andria (aka Revere for President).

Chapter Twelve

Puccini and the Paris Opera House

_"So why ya gotta stand there _

_Looking like the answer now?_

_It seems to me you'd come around_

_I need you now_

_Do you think you can cope?_

_You figured me out—I'm lost and I'm hopeless_

_Bleeding and broken—though I've never spoken_

_I've come undone in this mad season…"_

Matchbox Twenty: 'Mad Season' 

            Ginny walked slowly back to her apartment, doubting very much if Bill had beat her home, he was usually at the bank late. School had been hell and work even worse than that. She had to hold her breath and count to ten to calm herself down after the bitchy cappuccino lady had nearly gotten her fired. If it weren't for the incredibly relaxing weekend she'd spent on the coast, the bitch would probably be wearing her decaf, skinny, no-foam, not-a-real-cappuccino-if-there-isn't-any-foam cappuccino. Most of the time Ginny thought that these people were more interested in buying the image rather than a drink. With a heavy sigh she climbed the dark stairs to her flat. 

            The couch looked inviting but she ignored the urge to pour herself into it and pass out. It was her turn to make dinner tonight. 

            Chopping peppers in the kitchen with the tap running, Ginny barely heard the knock on the door. She twisted the knob that shut the water off and heard the knock again. 

            "I'm coming," she shouted, dropping the pepper she'd been chopping. It was probably Bill. Forgotten his key as usual. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm coming, Bi—You're not Bill," she stammered as the door swung back to reveal a messenger with a large package. 

            "No I'm not," the boy said, eyeing her large kitchen knife in one hand with apprehension. "Are you Virginia Weasley?" he asked reading off of a card. 

            "Yes I am," she answered with furrowed brows. What was this? She wondered who'd sent her such a large parcel via muggle delivery, as she took it and thanked the boy, fishing for some kind of a tip in her pocket. She shut the door and eyed the box with suspicion before giving in to curiosity and ripping into it. 

            She gasped in surprise and dropped her knife, missing her toe by mere inches. She wouldn't have noticed even if it had severed an appendage or two, she was stunned. 

            Placing the box unsteadily on the sofa, she removed its contents with wide eyes. 

Deep green lengths of satin and the most delicate of stitching, it looked expensively tailored. 

            Ginny did what any normal girl would do. She began to rip her clothes off even before she'd reached her bedroom and closed the door. She examined the dress in the mirror by the window, doing a ridiculous, cheesy spin to shake the wrinkles out of it. It was breathtaking, empire waist, straight full-length skirt of deep forest. It looked well with her hair—a color she'd never liked but apparently the gift giver had chosen the color of the dress to off set her fiery strands purposely. 

            A thought crossed her mind and caused her heart to beat rapidly. Where was the note? There had to be a note along with the dress. It couldn't have been from Draco, could it? No straight guy had this sort of fashion sense. She was almost positive that it couldn't have been from him. Lucy helped him perhaps. 

Sod it! Where was the note? 

            She searched her room frantically. No note. 

            She opened the door to check the sofa where the box still lay and rushed out into the front room. Bill was standing beside the sofa, note in hand. He looked up, shock paralyzing his features. 

            "Wow," he stammered, "Ginny, you look beautiful." He seemed sincere, but Ginny was more interested in that note he was holding than his compliments. 

            "Shut up, Bill. Give me that, would you?"

            He turned his attention to the note and continued reading. She lunged for the piece of paper to no avail. He was taller and held it out of reach. 

            "You don't have time to play games with me, dear. Prince Charming will be here in forty-five minutes. And your hair does look like crap if you want my honest opinion."

            She shot him a venomous look and read the note he'd tossed in her direction on the way to the kitchen. It was from Draco. 

_Puccini's Turnadot, tonight_

_            Lucy and I will pick you up at seven._

_            Draco_

            "Is that Draco, as in Draco Malfoy?" Bill asked from the kitchen. 

            Ginny was dreading this moment. The moment her family became involved in this friendship. She was sure her mother and Ron would disapprove. She was fairly certain Hermione would follow suit. She didn't even have the capacity to guess what Harry might feel about it, but Bill was still a wild card. He might not care, one way or the other. 

            "Yes. Is there something wrong with him?" Ginny asked, picking up the discarded knife and brought it into the kitchen, feeling awkward and inelegant in the designer dress as Bill leveled a scrutinizing gaze at her. 

            "No," he said, finishing her job with the pepper, apparently resigned to cook for himself tonight. 

            "His father is a real bastard, but I have nothing against him. That is, I don't have anything against him as long as he treats you right."

            Ginny rolled her eyes. She knew he meant well and would leave it at that. 

            "Go," he urged, "time's a wastin', dear."

            "Thanks for being so cool, Bill," Ginny pushed herself away from the counter to kiss her brother's cheek and he leaned down to receive it. 

            "No problem, you should have fun tonight. You deserve it, Gin." He went back to the peppers and Ginny ran to the bathroom to make sense of her hair. 

            "Who's this other chic? Lucy?" Bill asked, playfully suspicious. 

            "His sister," Ginny shouted back with emphasis on the sister bit, in case he'd gotten any weird ideas. 

            Draco showed up precisely when he said he would, looking rather amazing in a black tuxedo, impeccably tailored to fit his tall and elegant frame. Ginny would remember the way he looked tonight for a long time after the night had passed. And after a rather peaceful first meeting with Bill, Draco had whisked her out of the flat and into his car where Lucy had stayed to wait for them. 

***

            "So you two have been busy, you and Ginny, haven't you?" Harry said, thoroughly unimpressed with Hermione's story of age-old deceit, immortality, and three chosen saviors. He was with Ron in believing that Hermione had gone stark raving mad. 

            She was becoming impatient with the two of them. This thing was already causing serious problems, particularly with Ginny. Hermione wasn't sure, but she had good reason to believe that it was the ability of the seer that Ginny possessed that had driven her to attempt suicide twice. 

            But, tell that to Ron or Harry and they would turn on her faster than a pair of goblins, she was sure of it. She should have a look in Ginny's computer to be absolutely sure what was going on. Ginny wasn't exactly a forthcoming person herself. She loved hording her secrets. But Hermione couldn't justify such an invasion of privacy. She would have to wait. 

            But in the meanwhile, she would just have to do some more digging, regarding these Founders and their chosen ones. 

            She got up and stalked out of the room as Ron and Harry exchanged a series of glances that loosely interpreted to, "she definitely gone 'round the bend."

***

            "Oh, that was priceless! I wish you could have seen it, Lucy," Draco laughed, recalling the time in second year that Harry was chased down by a dwarf in angel wings and sung a Valentine written by Ginny, "I remember that like it was yesterday," he continued with a wistful, far-off look. Turning to Ginny whose arms were crossed in front of her, an unappreciative scowl on her face, " You will be proud to know that you were the hero of Slytherin House for nearly a month, people still talk about that, you know."

            "I'm so glad that it continues to amuse you, Draco, five years later. At least someone appreciates my work," she said as her scowl began to twitch into a smile. Draco was really evil to bring up something that embarrassing from so long ago. She'd nearly forgotten about that. She'd hoped Harry had. 

            "I think he's a sweet person and you should stop poking fun at him, Draco," came Lucy's protests from the backseat. 

            "How do you know Potter?" Draco asked, surprised at her comment. 

            Lucy shrugged. Draco shot a curious glance at her from the rearview mirror. "I met him at the hospital once," she answered with a smile. 

That would annoy Draco to no end, Ginny thought, starting to agree with him that Lucy enjoyed antagonizing people—as sweet as she was. Her knowing Harry at all would rub him the wrong way. 

"What was he doing at the hospital?" Draco asked, not concerned in the least, just prying information from his sister in his normal fashion. "Did he fall off of his broom attempting some idiotic Quidditch pass? Injure himself playing the hero to some kittens caught in a tree?"

"He was visiting a friend, that's all he told me," Lucy said in a less playful tone, as if the conversation were closed. She didn't want her brother asking the wrong questions. He was at the hospital that day visiting Ginny, who probably didn't want the subject of her attempted suicide brought out all over again. "Just leave the poor thing alone, Draco."

"Poor thing?" Draco repeated incredulously, "Lucy, stay away from him," Draco ordered her, but she was no longer listening to him. Ginny had turned around in her seat and was talking to her. He caught something about adorably messy hair and cringed as Lucy giggled at Ginny's comment, "he'd mentioned something to me about a cute blond at the hospital. I didn't realize that he was talking about you."

"Oh, would you look at that!" Draco interrupted sarcastically, "we're here and none too soon, I might add." He flipped the key to the valet and bent to help Lucy out of the car as the valet attended to Ginny. She laughed as he intermittently shot her venomous looks between fussing over his sister. She knew her cheap shot now. He didn't like his sister being even remotely mixed up with low class Harry Potter. She would use that to her advantage if he teased her again.

Ginny had often passed the grand building that housed one of the greatest companies of operatic actors in the world. But she had never had the opportunity to see it from the inside. The sight was breathtaking—so many grand staircases and elegantly dressed people. Ginny felt like a wide-eyed street urchin among the society she now found herself in the midst of. "I look like a fish out of water," she half breathed to herself, watching Lucy in her dress of baby blue that matched her eyes, mingling comfortably with the crowd. She'd stopped to talk with a handsome man with dark hair and even darker eyes. They appeared to know each other well.

"You light up the room," Draco whispered in her ear as he took her hand and led her to the stage right balcony, trusting Lucy to catch up when she was finished conversing with her first chair cellist friend whom, Draco informed her, would be performing at a benefit concert coming up that Lucy was eager to attend. 

"He's very talented," Lucy said as she turned her opera glasses on the orchestra pit, "and quite good-looking as well," she added with a devious smile that she knew very well made Draco scowl. Ginny laughed and reached across him to have a peek at the cellist Don Juan that Lucy was so infatuated with. She handed over the glasses eager for Ginny's opinion once she'd seen him. 

"What's his name again?" Ginny asked, searching for the dark, tall man she'd seen Lucy talking to earlier. 

Draco shook his head. Visibly uncomfortable with the girl talk he'd wound up in the middle of. He pretended to read the program and ignore the two of them.  Lucy knew how difficult it must have been for him to act, it was hard for anyone to ignore an ebullient presence like Ginny's. 

"Vasily Nabakov," Lucy answered. 

"Cute," Ginny smiled, still scoping the cellist with the glasses. Her vision made a cursory scan of the audience in general. There she caught the eye of an incredibly handsome older man, dark haired and hazel eyed. His smile made her blood run cold. 

Tom Riddle. 

Ginny's hands shook. She struggled to calm their terrified movements as she handed the glasses back to Lucy. She apologized and stood, making an excuse that she wanted to go to the washroom before the curtain went up. 

"Would you like for me to come with you?" Lucy asked good-naturedly. 

Ginny shook her head immediately. She needed to go quickly. She felt his eyes on her, causing a sick feeling to rise in her stomach. She realized with embarrassment, what a scene she must be causing. 

"Are you feeling alright? You look pale all of a sudden," Draco asked, eyeing her with concern. 

"No, I'm quite alright. I won't be too long," she assured him in a labored tone. Her heart was beating so fast that her breaths were becoming short and constricted. 

She exited the balcony swiftly, Draco and Lucy looking after her momentarily before exchanging questioning looks with each other. 

She felt ridiculous and paranoid and ran to the ladies room as quickly as possible before her mascara began to run— if that happened, then all would be lost. 

***

Hermione knew what she had to do and she would have to do it without the help of her trusted friends, you know, the ones who are supposed to be behind you no matter what. 

She ran up the stairs to Ginny's room at the top of the landing and threw all of the books she'd collected on the Founders, all rain soaked from her earlier display in London, on Ginny's bed. 

She flipped through the pages of one large book and stopped when she'd come to a picture of Rowena Ravenclaw. Her chosen one was the very person Hermione knew the least about, out of all of them. Rowena was smiling up from the pages with the delicate pendant in the shape of the fleur-de-lis with sapphires encrusted on its tips on a chain around her neck. 

Find that pendant and find the chosen one. That's what she had to do. Each chosen one was given a trinket of some meaning—perhaps they were more than just trinkets. Ginny's had turned out to be a Pensieve. Maybe this pendant had other purposes lying just under its polished surface. 

The sword that belonged to Gryffindor was easily located. Hermione knew that it lay in a case in the Headmaster's office. The hard part would be to get the sword out without him knowing it. Forget counting on her friends for help in that area as well. She wished Ginny were here, she was the only expert in this field that Hermione could think of. If you could filch something from the Louvre, Dumbledore's office would be a walk in the park. 

She was on her own here. She strove hard to come up with a workable plan, to get into Dumbledore's office. It would be difficult as school would not be in session for another few weeks. Was he even at the school? Who was there that she could rely on, if only for a look out? It took her a moment to think and then the obvious choice hit her like lightening. 

Dobby the house elf, of course. Mention the fact that Harry needed him and Dobby would be more than willing to help Hermione steal from the Headmaster. 

A plan was already blossoming in her mind. She reached for a quill and some ink. This needed some serious thought invested in it. It was wild, but it just might do the trick. 

***

The evening passed perfectly enough. Ginny had composed herself and returned to the balcony. She had almost forgotten her distress completely, lost in the story even though she didn't know a scrap of Italian. She was almost thankful for her ignorance. She liked the way Draco translated it for her, leaning a little closer than necessary to tell her the major points of the tenor's soliloquy. 

She was glad to leave the opera house, only to be away from the place she'd seen Tom—or, at least thought she'd seen Tom. But, she didn't want the night to end, it was altogether enchanting, right up until the moment she saw him again. Standing on the steps of her building, Draco had seen her to the door and she turned to kiss him lightly on the cheek—a bold move for her, but right for the moment. She felt his eyes on her, rather than saw them. But there he was, standing on the opposite side of the street under a large elm, smiling at her. Once again her blood went cold and the color drained from her face. 

Draco had seen it this time, but said nothing. He followed her eyes as she stared over his shoulder, but Tom had already gone. 

He looked back to her quickly to ask what was bothering her. 

Not wishing to go into detail and definitely not wanting him to think she was a lunatic, she thanked him for a lovely evening, waved to Lucy and hurried up to her flat, leaving Draco on the step to think that her reaction was all to do with him. 

Ginny shut the door behind her and bolted it. Already, fear and frustration induced tears broke the dam. She couldn't have one entirely perfect evening to herself. She'd nearly forgotten he was after her and he'd showed up when she'd finally thought he was gone for good. 

She kicked her shoes off with fierce determination and trampled straight into her room where she found a note on her bed in Bill's handwriting, wishing her a goodnight and telling her not to wait up for him, he didn't expect to be home tonight. She balled the note up and flung it across the room. She was alone and tired and frightened and hunted. 

Ginny dropped to her knees and fished under her bed for the bronze cup. "Please tell me something encouraging," she prayed with puffy eyes and trembling hands as she set the Pensieve in her lap, falling into its depths in hopes that it would reassure her that everything was alright and she was just hallucinating as a result of too little sleep. 

She found herself kneeling on the cold, stone floor of a medieval bedchamber, Helga's, she imagined. For the older of the two occupants was the same jovial blond woman in deep council with her stepdaughter, Ginny's own ancestor, Azria. 

"Eowyn knows, I tell you. Mungo told me that she'd uttered the most curious turn of phrase when he'd mentioned her father's experiments. She said, 'Try as anyone might, my father's teachings will endure. You will all die and your pathetic assurances with you, but we will remain.' I tell you, she knows of the chosen. They will surely combat us with dark magic."

"Are you afraid for yourself child, for the other chosen? Faramir can handle himself and Maren is well protected, as are you. Fear nothing and do not be afraid for your heirs. When the time comes, they will have all that is needed to even the fight. All will be provided, some by the Dark side itself. It will tip the balances. One side will win out in this battle. There will be no draw. One will prevail. I have seen it." Helga's eyes glazed over with a far-off stare. 

Ginny, crouching, wrinkling her dress, hair falling wildly out of its elegant twist gave her a more crazed appearance than she could have imagined. She wanted desperately to throw something at the stoic woman who talked of her as if she were a machine, guaranteed for its parts and promised to perform. She had no idea how futile it all was. She was too young, all alone, not credible in the least. Who would believe her that the end of the world was literally at hand? Where was her other two chosen comrades? Who was there to back her up?

Add to all of that doubt the fact that the Slytherin line was aware of the entire scheme to combat his last heir and all seemed hopeless. She knew that she'd made a promise to do what she could, but she was sinking fast with no lifeline to speak of. 

She wanted out, but not in this dress. It was too good for her. She was a coward and cowards died in bathrobes not beautiful evening gowns. 

So, in her terrycloth robe, she padded to the kitchen to raid her hiding spot, a niche above the fridge where she'd hid half a bottle of Smirnoff and a vile of fast acting sleeping pills she'd lifted from the hospital where she was interning in a desperate attempt to have a peaceful nights sleep for a change. What a way to go. She only prayed that it would work this time, but you know what they say: the third time's the charm.

***

Driving fast, back to Ginny's flat, Draco hoped that he was overreacting. Lucy had seen what she thought might have spooked Ginny and he was very suspicious. He had to go back after Lucy was safe at home—just to make sure Ginny was all right. Lucy thought it might have been that same person that she remembered from plenty of meetings of her father's that she'd spied in on. Tom Riddle, a disguise used by Lord Voldemort. It sounded too fantastic at first, but Ginny had been acting very oddly all night long and he had seen the way Voldemort had preyed upon her specifically at the end of his fifth year, in Azkaban. 

He raced up the steps to her building and was let in by an inhabitant that was on his way out. At Ginny's door he knocked a few times before growing impatient and brandished his wand. Screw the Ministry and their asinine rules—he would use magic if it were important. 

Panic hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks as he saw her passed out on the rug behind the sofa, vodka bottle on the coffee table, an empty prescription bottle of some serious sleeping pills clasped in her hand, no protective older brother anywhere. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed ineloquently and dropped to her side to check her pulse, noting her scarred wrists absently. She needed a doctor right away or there would be no hope for her. 

He tried to rouse her, shaking her shoulders, slapping her cheeks—nothing. 

Her lips where bluish in color and he was sick to think that she might be beyond hope already. 


	13. Strange Allies

Disclaimer: I own my original characters: Lucy, Anni, Imogen, etc. I also own my plot. The rest belongs to Rowling and the big dogs. No infringement was intended. 

Author's Note: If you're getting bored of the story you can play Spot the Evil Dark Lord along with Ginny. It's loads of fun. Seriously though, if you are enjoying the story, please drop me a review. I would love to know how my readers are responding to it. Well, I'd say it's a little more than halfway finished. We've got a rough couple of weeks before seventh year starts for our heroic characters (and sixth year in Ginny's case, fifth for Lucy and Imogen). Just a quick run down, in case any of you were confused on ages and timelines. 

Chapter Thirteen

Strange Allies

_"We're strange allies with warring hearts_

_What wild-eyed beast you be_

_The space between_

_The wicked lies we tell _

_And hope to keep safe from the pain…"_

Dave Matthews Band: 'The Space Between' 

            Hermione decided to waste no more time. She was going to break into Hogwarts tonight and no one would stop her. 

            As the last vestiges of day disappeared—well after ten in the evening, Hermione padded down the creaky stairs of the Burrow and into the kitchen, shoes in one hand and her school bag in the other, filled with what Hermione thought might come in handy—tricks of the trade so-to-speak. 

            She put her shoes on quickly and walked directly to the sink where a small flowerpot sat on the windowsill there. She grabbed a small pinch of Floo Powder and took up her bag again, stepping closer to the dying fire. As she threw the powder in, she spoke clearly into the flames, "The Three Broomsticks."

            She was unaware at that moment that she had been watched the entire time. 

***

            Draco consulted his watch for about the twentieth time that evening. The minutes were creeping by, but he'd been there for nearly three hours. 

            He hated hospitals. They recalled the moment he'd stepped off of the Hogwarts Express at the end of fourth year vividly. He'd expected to see his mother there, as she always was, eager to see him again after being gone from home for so long.

_ She wasn't there that time, only a nervous-looking servant stood in her place. "Your mother wants you. Quick, Master Draco, we must get you to the hospital," his wavering voice made Draco nervous, but he was feeling insolent at the moment, having just told Potter and his friends off, only to be hexed and left to be trod upon in the train's crowded passages. The only thing on his mind at the moment was revenge. _

_            He followed the servant, who speedily stowed his baggage in the trunk of the car. "We must Apparate, Master Draco, there isn't much time to waste." The servant took his hand before it was even offered. Draco didn't even have time to recoil or scold the servant for being so impertinent. In a half a second's time they were in the emergency wing of St. Mungo's. The first thing Draco's vision had registered was his mother huddled in a corner, shaking and crying hysterically. Draco's fist impulse was damage control. How could he stop his mother from causing a scene? And where was his father? Was he the one in the hospital? Was he hurt? That was absolute nonsense and Draco knew it almost instantly. His father was invincible—unbreakable. But where was he? And Lucy, wouldn't she be out of school yet? Beauxbatons was always out a week earlier than Hogwarts. _

_            "What's wrong, mother? You do realize that everyone is staring at you? Where is father?" Draco asked mechanically. Something was definitely wrong. His mother was distraught and couldn't find breath enough to explain. She looked to the servant that had brought him here and nodded. _

_            Taking the cue, the servant explained with what little detail he was allowed to use, that Miss Lucy has had an accident. _

_            He had waited with his mother in silent terror for five hours, before the medical team that had been working on her exited the operating room and nodded their permissions that they were allowed to see her briefly before she was to be moved. There was a lot of blood on them—Lucy's blood. Draco's chest constricted painfully and his breaths were coming in labored gasps. _

_            She lay nearly lifeless on the gurney she'd been brought in on. Her arm was being cradled in a temporary cast—it being the least of her injuries, would be the last one attended to. Draco found it impossible to stand a moment longer and was thankful that a chair was nearby. He knew almost instantly that this was not a result of a riding accident, she was beaten slowly and methodically and it didn't take Draco long after that realization to guess whom the attacker had been. His father had done it before, but had never taken it quite this far. _

            The overseeing surgeon had come silently back into the room pulled his mother to what he thought was a safe enough distance from Draco's range of hearing. But he'd caught every word and was sick to learn that she'd suffered an alarming amount of internal bleeding. Five hours of surgery and she was still in a precarious state. All of that, and she would never walk again. 

            "M. Malfoy?" the nurse called with a Haitian dialect that was hard for Draco to understand in all of this distress. "She is not awake yet, but you may see her if you wish."

            "Have you had any word from her brother?" Draco asked, coming out of his daze. 

            "Non, Monsieur. But we are trying. Is there anyone else I could contact for you?" She asked with a sympathetic smile. They must train these people in the appropriate facial expressions to wear. 

            "Could you please send an owl to Lucy Malfoy? Tell her that I might be here a while. Ginny is fine, but I am going to stay at least until her brother shows up." He gave her the address of his grandmother's house in town where Lucy was staying and then went in to see Ginny. It was almost as painful as seeing Lucy. But thankfully, Ginny had only a slight overdose. She wasn't hooked up to any machines, no medical magic had been used and she was breathing on her own. He took her hand in his and kissed her forehead lightly before settling down in a chair beside her for another few hours of waiting.

***

            Madam Rosmerta did not live in her pub, but down the street. Hermione was grateful for that for that when she was hurled from the fireplace and headlong into the bar, causing a god-awful crash and clatter of barstools. 

            She got to her feet immediately, reproaching herself for her lack of grace. She caught her reflection in the mirror behind the bar and almost snorted with laughter. No need for spy makeup now. She was covered in black soot, causing the whites of her eyes to stand out visibly. If she were chased through the dark halls of the school, all she would have to do to evade capture would be to find a dark corner, stand very still and close her eyes. She couldn't have planned it better herself. 

            She set the stools back on top of the bar, the way the bartender had left them after she'd mopped up. Hermione made a cursory sweep of the scene to be positive she'd set everything she'd knocked down back in its place. Leaving no trace of her presence behind, Hermione took her wand from her pocket and went to the back of the pub and out through the entrance around back that led to an alley. She used a simple charm to lock the door behind her and walked through the darkened streets to the gates of the castle that were open as usual. 

            Inside the cool, dark and deserted halls, Hermione stopped and held her breath to listen for signs that the caretaker Filch and his pesky cat were anywhere around. No one seemed to be here and it was an odd feeling for a student used to bustling halls and stern teachers always keeping an eye on them. The thought of free reign through this place was almost intoxicating to the tight laced, no-nonsense Hermione. She could hardly believe her own daring in what she was about to do. She half thought that she would never go through with it. The word expulsion nagged at the back of her mind.

            With far more determination that she expected to have at the moment, she charged down the stairs and to the large still life painting of fruit that was the entrance to the kitchens. She tickled the pair and ducked inside as the painting swung back. 

She could immediately pick out Dobby in his normal clothing that contrasted starkly with the starched and pressed tea towels of the other house elves. 

            "I wasn't expecting to see Miss at school this early. No students are here yet and school has not started—and what is Miss wearing on her face?" Dobby rattled off salutations and questions that overwhelmed Hermione and made her laugh as well. 

            "I'm here on a mission," Hermione said in a conspiring tone. 

            Dobby was hooked. His eyes widened with excitement. 

            "I need your help, Dobby. You're the only elf for the job and Harry is depending on you," she felt bad only slightly for playing on the unsuspecting elf's fondness for Harry. 

            "Dobby will do anything for Miss if Harry Potter needs him to. What is Dobby's mission? I can do anything Miss. Dobby is a free elf. No master. I can help."

            "Good," Hermione smiled. "Do you know the knew password for the gargoyle that guards the Headmaster's office?"

            "Of course, Dobby knows that. Easy. It's Fizzing Whizbee," Dobby said, puffing out his chest with importance. 

            "Excellent, come with me," Hermione directed, making for the portrait hole and out of the kitchen, Dobby at her heels. Distractedly fishing through her bag, looking for the Marauder's Map that she'd stolen from Harry's room on her way to Ginny's after they'd laughed at her story. Serves him right, she thought. They should've believed her, but they didn't. Now she was on her own, but the map would prove more valuable than their company anyway.

            She nearly jumped and screamed bloody murder as a hand reached out of the shadows next to the painting of fruit. She inadvertently kicked the small house elf into the opposite wall and swung around quickly to land a fist between the eyes of her attacker. 

            Ron's hand came up and grabbed her fist centimeters from his nose and he laughed. "You hit like a girl, Hermione!" Harry was laughing too, but not for long. One withering glance from Hermione silence him, if not Ron. 

            "You two followed me?" she said, pulling her hand out of Ron's grip and massaging it. He'd grabbed her a little harder than necessary. 

            "Of course we did. What the hell are you doing? Have you really gone mad?" Ron was shaking his head disbelievingly at her. She really could have hit him at that moment. 

            "What is this costume you've got on?" Harry laughed, surveying her black long sleeves, trousers and trainers, lingering longer on the blackened face.  

            Hermione was beyond gentle, patient friend and wasted no more breath arguing with the two of them. They'd come all this way just to poke fun at her some more.

            Harry was thoroughly shocked when no explanation came, only a very unladylike gesture from his always very proper friend. 

            "Fine. If we're playing 'Avengers' here, I get to be John Steede," Harry added, provoked by Hermione's seething impatience. 

            "Fine," Hermione shot back, "Then I'm Emma Peale, which means I'm running this show and you do as I say," she added, getting up in Harry's face and poking a finger roughly in his chest, causing him to back down slightly. "And I say shut up and follow me." She turned and headed down the hallway, calling for Dobby to get up off the ground and come as well. 

            Harry and Ron fell into step behind her and the tiny elf. 

            "Well, then. Who do I get to be?" Ron asked, thoroughly confused by that blatantly muggle exchange back there. 

            "You can be my trusty umbrella," Harry laughed, ducking a blow from his friend. 

            "I want to be John Peale, or whoever he is. He sounds tall and you most certainly are not."

            "Will you two be serious for two seconds altogether? Honestly, I should just tie you both up and do this job myself." Hermione quipped, consulting the map once again to make sure the way ahead was clear. 

            "I don't know if that was an invitation or a threat," Ron said raising an eyebrow suggestively, which made Hermione huff and stomp up the stairs. 

            "Would you listen to yourself?" Harry said, still amused by the whole scene. "Do this job yourself?" he repeated, "You sound like a hit man or something." 

            "Hit woman," Hermione corrected as she continued up the stairs. "I wish you two would just trust me. I've done loads of nonsense, crazy and even dangerous stuff for you two. More than enough to earn a little respect at least," she said, sounding every bit as crestfallen as she felt. She was a joke to them. 

            "She's right, Ron. We should stop," came Harry's reluctant agreement. "She's broken into Professor Snape's office for us once."

            "Thanks, Harry," Hermione turned as she came to the gargoyle and smiled at him. 

            "So does that mean you were just kidding about tying me up?" came Ron's voice, once again breaking up the seriousness of the situation. 

            Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to Dobby, "What was the password again?"

            But Dobby had already uttered the words and the gargoyle was moving aside. 

            They had gained entrance easily enough, but now for the hard part. Getting past any sort of magical traps Dumbedore had set to protect this valuable weapon—and then, getting out of Hogsmeade with it. 

***

            Three days since she'd been out of the hospital and Ginny still felt groggy with the effects of the pills and booze she'd consumed. She kept mostly to the couch, getting up only when she needed to. Most of the time, she slept. 

            "I can't get out of it. They need me down at the bank this minute," Bill said, coming from the kitchen, "But I'll stay if you want me to." He was pleading with her to let him go. She didn't want him to lose his job and goblins were a little bit less sympathetic than normal people about the fact that he had a psycho, suicidal sister to look after. She was feeling much better since she'd been at home and urged him to go to work giving him the slight consolation that Draco was stopping by later, so she wouldn't be totally alone all evening. 

            She'd begun to doze a little while after her brother had left but was woken by a familiar knock at the door. Draco was standing on the landing with his arms full of bags. 

            "I'm cooking for you tonight," he explained as he set his load down in the kitchen. 

            "Can you cook?" Ginny asked doubtfully. Her reservation must have shown, because he appeared in the entryway of the kitchen a moment later with an offended look on his face. 

            "Of course I can. And I do it rather well, I don't mind telling you," he said, returning to the kitchen, occupied. 

            Ginny knew how disheveled and grungy she must look. She spent most of the day in her pajamas wrapped in her favorite quilt on the sofa. He didn't even seem to notice how bad she looked—a thought that made her smile. A month ago he would have been eager to point out how she looked worse than hell. 

            Draco appeared again when everything was set to simmer, moving Ginny's feet to sit on the sofa next to her and placing them gently in his lap. He looked at her as if he were waiting for an explanation. She sank lower into her quilt as if to hide. She didn't want to go into this at the moment. But she didn't want to lie to him. She tried anyway. 

            "Would you believe me if I told you it was an accident?" she asked. 

            He shook his head slowly, "No, I wouldn't. What happened, Ginny?" He asked patiently. "I know something spooked you at the opera and then again when I dropped you off. You can tell me. I'll help you. You can trust me."

            "I do trust you," she said.

            "No, no you don't. Not with this, anyway," he countered, taking one of her feet in his hands and massaging it distractedly. 

            "It's complicated and it involves more than just me—It's stupid. It sounds too crazy. I'm just scared, that's all." She knew she wasn't making much sense, but he listened to her as if she made all the sense in the world. 

            "I understand about wanting to get out of it all. End it. Whatever you want to call it. I wasn't very successful either." He didn't even look at her, he was having a hard time telling her this, like when he'd told her about Lucy. 

            "Lucy's back problems mean that there is always plenty of morphine on hand. That's how I did it and it didn't seem like a bad way to go, at the time."

            "But why?" Ginny barely managed. She was shocked at his having tried to kill himself once. He always seemed so calm and collected, an answer for everything and his life perfectly laid out for him. 

            "My father," he said simply. "He has plans for me, but it's not what I want at all." He shrugged his shoulders elegantly, "It seemed like the best way out at the time."

            "But what about Lucy? Didn't you think about her at all?" Ginny, felt impertinent as she'd finished the sentence, but she could not take it back once it was spoken. 

            Draco thought for a moment and then answered, "Did you think about your family at all when you'd tried it the first time, or the second?"

            She began to ask how he'd known about the first time she'd tried it. He answered her question before she'd even found the voice to ask, "I've seen the scars on you're wrists, Ginny."

            "That was the second time," she admitted weakly.

            His eyes widened in surprise, "Jesus! You've tried to kill yourself three times?"

            She nodded shamefully. There was not enough quilt to hide under, Ginny realized. She felt totally exposed and transparent, though she knew he would not judge her.

            "And you can't tell my why?" He said, fighting impatience all the while, he was the picture of calm outwardly. 

            She shook her head helplessly, fighting back tears. She didn't want him to know how she had helped Voldemort become stronger, how she could still help him and how he was hunting her for that purpose. She didn't want to draw him into the middle of it. And she had no desire to know how he would have taken it if he knew all of this. He was fighting so hard to disconnect himself from all of it—after all it had cost him; after all he had lost. 

            He got up with the pretense that he had something to do in the kitchen and she took that opportunity to compose herself and dry her eyes. Someday he would understand why he couldn't have known. She had to keep it from him to protect him, like she had to keep it from Harry for the same purpose. If she were more honest with herself, she would also have to admit how frightening the timing was on Tom's appearances. It was as if he'd followed Draco to her. He now knew that she had that connection, putting not only him in danger, but Lucy as well. 

            An awkward silence followed dinner. 

            She was still unable to steel up the courage to tell him. 

            But there was something she needed desperately to know.

            "Why do you want to know what my reasons are so badly?"

            "Because seeing you there, almost dead—actually, at first I thought you were dead, but seeing you like that made me afraid like I haven't been in years, since—," he stopped. Ginny saw that he did look frightened and she felt guilty for it. 

            "Since your sister almost died," she finished for him. 

            "Yes. I thought I would lose you," he said, chancing a glance at her, which she returned a bit unsteadily. 

            "You wouldn't understand it, if I told you," she began to explain all of her reasons. His sincerity was compelling her. "You can't help me. I'm in this alone. I don't want you hurt."

            "Ginny, whatever it is, you can't do everything on your own. Sometimes you need help, whether you want it or not, Lucy's always telling me that."

            She didn't want it to come to this, but she would hurt him if it would save him from this situation. She would rather he were safe and hating her than dead because of her. 

            "I don't want your help," she spat, it broke her heart to do it, "I don't need it. I'm not your charity case, Draco."

            He was visibly shaken by what she'd said. She knew she had hit her mark and had to bite back an apology for wounding him. He quickly recovered and in the next second had become angry. "Well, then. What's stopping you from crawling back to Potter? Your knight in shinning armor, is he? Then where is he now? Not here, that's for certain. You'll follow him around like a lost puppy until the end of your days and he'll never know you're there. It's pathetic really," he spat back, ripping his coat from the back of the sofa. He was gone in the next second leaving Ginny to sink lower in her blankets and cry until Bill came home. 

***

            It went without a hitch. Hermione was too irate to encourage insubordination from her team and they'd had the sword in Hermione's bag and were on their way back to the front entrance. 

            Dobby had returned to the kitchens via back passages from the office after showering Harry with so much attention that Hermione feared he would have them found out if his goodbyes had taken any longer. Harry received them kindly enough, but had sensed Hermione's urgency in getting the sword safely back to the Burrow. 

            "I don't know why that sword is so important to you, Hermione," Ron said when they'd returned safely to the front room of the Weasley's home, "but whatever it's for, I'm beginning to believe your story. You wouldn't have gone to all of that trouble if it wasn't important." He looked noticeably shaken by their nearly blown covert mission. Filch was nearly on to them on several occasions. 

            Hermione smiled. Ron was hopelessly slow sometimes, but that was part of his charm. 

            She set herself to the arduous task of explaining why she'd thought the sword was so pertinent. Her audience was a rapt one this time. She only wished she could have showed them the scene she'd witnessed in the Pensieve, that was the best evidence she'd seen for Harry as Faramir's heir, he bore even more of a resemblance to her dark-haired, green-eyed friend than his father did. 

***

            Ginny was back at work and would start school again next week, for finals. No one knew the particulars of her emergency hospital visit, but no slack was being given her, anyway. And, indeed, she expected none. If all had worked out correctly, she wouldn't have even been here now. But, as usual, Ginny had botched the job again and had to suffer the consequences of being thrust unwillingly back into her shitty life. 

            But at least her first day back at work was going as smoothly as she ever hoped for. She wasn't by herself today. Sophie was with her, and for five more minutes, her boss would be here too. She disliked the man the more she got to know him. He took the phrase, "the customer is always right" to the very extreme and she had some particular customers that had it out for her specifically and would love to see her fired. 

            She went into the backroom for a moment to grab a pitcher of milk, juggling cookies and various other evil pastries with the other hand. When she'd returned to the front of the shop with her load, she was met with a sight that nearly shot her day to hell. 

            She most certainly could not deal with Draco Malfoy on top of everything else today. His last comment, two days ago had stung, not because it was in anyway true, but because he'd meant it with every fiber of his being, whereas what she'd said was simply meant to dislodge him from any duty he may feel toward her. It was a mistake to grow so attached to him in the first place, but yet again, that was also Ginny's fault. 

            "Not now, Draco. Can we do this later?" she groaned as he blocked her path behind the counter, her load cramping her arms with its weight. 

            'No," he answered simply, "there's something I wanted to say."

            "Ah, other than the fact that I'm holding out for the affections of a person that will never return them and that I look ridiculous in doing so. Who the hell are you to judge me? You don't even know what you're talking about," she began to yell and cause a scene. 

            "I just wanted to apologize," he said, his hands held out in a gesture of a truce. A truce was dangerous. She needed him to leave her. He was not safe around her—no one was. 

            "I don't want your apology," she said, trying to move past him so that she could set the straining weight of the boxes and the pitcher down. Seeing the pitcher and remembering that he had said something about hating milk to the point of phobia, she got a wicked idea. 

            As if on cue, Draco had inadvertently asked for it, "Then what do you want," he asked, growing impatient. 

            "Do you know what I've always wanted, Draco," she asked with the most evil of grins on her face as she stared at the heavy pitcher of clean white liquid, eager to let go of it and ease her aching arm.

            "What is that?" Draco asked, crossing his arms, making no attempt to move aside for her. 

            "To do this," she said simply as she upturned the pitcher and let its contents splash down the front of his no doubt very expensive shirt. She couldn't help but laugh at the scene and after the initial shock, Draco was laughing too. But her boss, who'd happened to be standing just behind her, was not so amused. 

            Draco, seeing him looming behind Ginny first, sobered up and made a sign to warn Ginny that she'd better turn around. 

            After about five minutes worth of yelling in rapid French, in which Ginny only caught about every other word, he'd announced that he was firing her to an audience of captive coffee and drama connoisseurs. 

            She turned to a soaked Draco who was trying his hardest to cover a grin. "Well," she shrugged, "you've finally gone and got me fired. Are you happy with yourself now, Mr. Malfoy?" She threw the rest of her load on the counter, waved to a shocked Sophie and untied her apron. Draco turned to her as well and apologized for the mess before following Ginny out of the shop. 

            "You spilled milk all over me," he said, whining like a toddler. She took him by the hand, stifling lingering laughter with the other hand and led him to the alley behind the store where she produced her wand and cleaned him up with magic. 

            "You have to admit that it was pretty damned funny," Ginny said and then stopped as Draco moved closer to her and bent to kiss her, but she stopped him by moving swiftly to one side. "Now how am I going to pay for school? Way to go Draco. I'm destitute now," she was putting on a fake, desperate voice.

            He held up his hands, "Hey, that was nothing to do with me, for once."

            "I have to go," she said finally, not meeting his eyes. 

            He nodded and let her pass. Watching her retreat down the alleyway, he called after her, "Meet me later? In the park?" 

            Ginny turned and smiled, "Okay," and then disappeared around the corner. 

            Moments later Draco heard her scream. 

"Oh hell," he managed before racing around the corner after her. As he turned the corner he'd seen her round just moments before, he scanned the passersby for her redhead among them. She was not there. The crowd that had gathered had the eeriest blank stares on their faces—a memory wipe. Shit!

            He turned around and around, looking in all directions for her, but knew he wouldn't find her if she was taken by the person that he feared had abducted her. He would have Apparated, no traces left. 

            He felt something underfoot and looked down to find he'd stepped on Ginny's bag. She must have dropped it in struggling. Not far from her schoolbag with books spilling out of it lay a curious pewter cup.

            Draco stooped to examine it in the midst of the crowd of creepy mannequin-type people. The French wizarding government would have been alerted by now to the activity in this section of muggle Pairs. 

            He quickly picked up Ginny's bag and the cup and got the hell out of there.


	14. The Metropolitan Museum Of Art

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and a few inconsequential characters. The rest belongs to Rowling who probably won't kick up too much of a fuss over me abusing them for a little while. I'm just having a little fun—no one is getting hurt. (Well, if they are, just remember: It's fiction, they're not real.)

Author's Note: There's no one reading this so I could put just about whatever I please in this spot. I could say that I'm a crack dealer in Washington Heights or that I'm really an informant for the Russian Mafyia. Why does no one like my story? You're all going to make me cry…I promise I will. Someone feel sorry for me and drop a review. It would make my day—hell, it would make my week!

Chapter Fourteen 

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

_"In a New York minute_

_Everything can change_

_In a New York minute _

_Things can get pretty strange…"_

The Eagles: 'New York Minute' 

            Sirius made a deft movement to snatch his sunglasses from his face. This was getting ridiculous—Peter was giving him the run around. 

            He held another note in his hand, instructing him to wait. He was outside of a record shop in Muggle London. There was nothing else in the note to go on, only the promise that Peter would slip up and reveal pertinent information that could lead to any of his co-conspirators' captures. Why Sirius didn't just turn Peter in right here and now, he couldn't have guessed. The only reason he had for showing leniency toward him was that he had no desire to condemn anyone to the life that he'd spent twelve years living—a prisoner of the hated Azkaban. 

            He knew a worse fate awaited the murderer of the former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Peter would receive the Dementor's Kiss for that offense. Really, Sirius thought with a half smile, that was more of a public service than a crime. Fudge really was an unforgiving, power-hungry bastard. 

Sirius played along because worse people threatened Harry's life than Peter—Voldemort and his precariously faithful financial backer, Lucius Malfoy, for starters. Plus, he and his band of freelance investigators suspected numerous moles within the Ministry. It was too much of a coincidence that the Dark Faction was a step ahead of the Auror Force and the Department of the Mysteries as well. Their connections ran deep and Sirius still held out hope that Peter would redeem himself and give someone up who knew anything about these Ministry subversives. He'd been meaning to get someone in there at the highest levels, but Dumbledore's trusted group of witches and wizards was stretching thin as it was, everyone had their job, some of them had more than one. He felt that keeping Peter's meetings a secret from his former headmaster could end up being disastrous—Dorothy couldn't know, of course. Peter had killed her husband, the Minister, and she was out for blood. But Dumbledore's council would be both sound and confidential. Hagrid could also lend an objective perspective on the decision. He had the valuable, salt of the earth point of view that Sirius thought very important, especially for someone as close to the situation as Hagrid was. He would seek the council of these two very wise friends as soon as they had returned from their final meeting with the small band of giants in the northern crags of Scotland. 

He stopped in the middle of his thoughts of justification as a movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. A familiar grayish rat ran across the street and around the corner of the bakery. 

Sirius immediately followed. 

***

Wizarding Paris was set up pell-mell around the larger Muggle sections in such a way that made it impossible for Draco to reach the marble façade of Gringott's Bank sooner. He hoped that Bill was still there and had not been alerted to his sister's disappearance from another source. He needed to hear the real story from Draco, not whatever bullshit the Ministry was cooking up to put a harmless spin on things. 

He was not the first one to reach Bill, he saw with annoyance as he entered into the cool, marble cave of the bank lobby. Bill was standing just off to one side with an official-looking wizard who was reading a statement. Bill looked confused and ashen. His eyes caught Draco's with mild relief as well as urgency. He pushed the unsuspecting Ministry wizard to one side and made a direct path to where Draco stood just out of earshot of the official. 

"Do you know what's going on? This rent-a-cop over here is saying that Ginny was kidnapped just outside of the coffee shop. A mass memory charm was used—only one witness who saw it all from the park across the street." Bill was frantic, asking questions but not giving Draco the opportunity to answer them. 

The Ministry wizard approached importantly and took out a quill. "Were you on the scene, sir? Do you have any details you want to offer?"

Draco leveled a surprised glare at the impertinent wizard who couldn't be much older than himself. "No, bugger off, will you," was the only inarticulate response he could manage before turning back to Bill and asking if there were someplace he could speak to him in private. 

Bill had the presence of mind to ask the young Ministry representative to wait outside while he ushered Draco into his office and shut the door. All the while Draco was fighting to gain control of himself. He wanted nothing better than to beat that cocky Ministry prat into the ground with his bare fists. He'd caught the look that the wizard had given him as he began his interrogation. He was all too familiar with that look—he'd been paid off. The doctors that had operated on Lucy, when suggesting to his mother that the horse, being a dangerous creature, should be put down immediately wore the same expression. He knew that they had been coached to say this and their pockets amply lined for all of their trouble. They were bribed with more than they made in a year, he could tell by the way they shifted uncomfortably, a moral struggle in which the idea of wealth always won out. 

His father and his band of Voldemort supporters had an unfathomably long reach. It was no surprise to him at all to see that same expression play across the face of this investigator. In fact, he had expected nothing less. They were obviously behind it and it wouldn't be too hard to cover up, given the amount of resources and connections these immensely wealthy and powerful men possessed. 

"Talk, Malfoy. What do you know that they're not telling me?" Bill looked visibly ruffled, as if he didn't know what to believe. As Draco took a seat, he doubted that the story he had to tell would sound anymore credible than the tale that the authorities were telling. 

***

Sirius advanced on the rat just as it had turned into the slight, fidgety Peter, wand raised—he would hold all of the cards this time. Trusting him was not an option. Sirius would have the truth or Peter was going to jail, right here and now. 

"What do you want this time, Peter?" Sirius said, warning the shorter man with his tones that he may turn around to address him, but slowly. He would stand for no games. 

"The same as always: a deal," he shrugged as if it were obvious. 

Sirius was wondering why he didn't go to someone with influence, the kind of person that could actually cut him a deal. Why did he assume that Sirius had any weight whatsoever with the Ministry? 

"I can't do that. I don't even work there anymore. In fact, why don't you ask the new Minister to give you some slack? Isn't he one of your club?" So, that was true at least. Sirius had suspected Solomon Grey of Voldemort sympathies ever since he'd showed up out of nowhere and taken the position of Minister, doing nothing incriminating enough to arouse his public's suspicion, but doing nothing to insure their safety from the threat of the dark forces that had plagued them for years now. He saw it in the way Peter started and then attempted a quick cover, impassive, indifferent. But that first instant of surprise was all it took. Sirius had one answer and was curious to see how much further he could push this. 

"What is it that you plan to exchange? Why even try to deal? What is your motivation here, Peter?" Sirius asked without the slightest bit of concern. It was true that he didn't want Peter's fate in the hands of the Ministry, but he didn't want him out on the streets either. Under Voldemort's sway, Peter could be pretty dangerous. 

"Information," Peter answered unceremoniously, examining his fingernails in a very unconcerned manner. 

"You can't expect me to bend over backward for you after what you've done. No matter how many of your compatriots you rat on." Sirius was losing patience with him. It was sickening to watch as he floundered about with the fate of countless people. If he'd left that life behind, it was all well and good. And of course, if that were the case, Sirius would do anything within his power to help him, reduce his sentence (although a life sentence might be the best that Peter could hope for). He knew that it was what Remus would have wanted. 

"How about a little something to go on and then we can take it from there, hmm?" Peter slowly raised his eyes to look at Sirius. He wanted to beat that infuriatingly blasé look off of the rat's face, but restrained himself with difficulty. 

"What could you possibly know?" Sirius snorted, feeling mutinous. "If I were a powerful dark lord, I wouldn't let you in on much of anything. Especially after the way you'd proved your loyalty in the beginning? Why should he trust a sniveling, power hungry traitor who'd sold out his friends for mere scraps of influence and power." He shook his head, surveying Peter with a look that would have shamed the filthiest sewer creature. It was obvious what he thought about Peter, but he did realize how much just coming here to talk to Sirius showed about his ardent wish to head off something big. 

"Leave off the cocky, schoolboy bullshit for a minute, Sirius," Peter said, looking down at the mark on his arm and then quickly back to the stern-faced but quiet man. "The convoy to the giants is a set-up. I'm not sure how much time there is to get whoever was supposed to meet up with that particular band out. It might have already gone bad. The giants would've never turned. Voldemort has already promised them too much, when he finally takes over." Peter stopped to shake his head. That could have been interpreted two ways, either he doubted that Voldemort would succeed or he believed that the giants would also turn on him as well. Either way, Sirius couldn't give a damn—he wasn't even paying attention anymore. His mind was fully focused on the alarm that registered as Peter told him calmly of Hagrid and Dumbledore's fate. They had walked into an ambush that very morning and this was the first that Sirius was hearing about it, and from Peter nonetheless. 

Wide-eyed and distant sounding to himself, Sirius muttered, "Dumbledore. It was Dumbledore and Hagrid."

Peter, upon hearing this, looked up from where he was surveying the mark on his arm and biting back the pain that it was causing, whispered, "Holy shit!"

"Is there time?" Sirius began in a desperate voice, "Will I be able to get there in time?"

"I," Peter began, looking as desperate as Sirius felt. He obviously hadn't known who would be facilitating that meeting between the wizarding community and the giant community. He would not have announced it so lightly had he known Hagrid was involved, as they had become good friends at one time. "I don't know. I only heard of it in passing."

"There still maybe time," Sirius said urgently, looking to his watch to form a plan. 

"Do you know where the meeting was to take place?" Peter asked, eager to help for once and not being infuriatingly cryptic. He was just as concerned for Hagrid as Sirius was for either him or the headmaster. It felt odd to have thrown away the petty shit so quickly and to have formed an understanding of sorts with Peter. 

He rubbed his eyes wearily and looked at the mark again. "I have to go. He's been calling me for over five minutes now and will be growing suspicious if I don't turn up soon." He turned to Apparate and Sirius walked off, quickly in the other direction. 

"Sirius," Peter said.

"Yeah, Peter?"

"Good luck. I hope I wasn't too late." The look in Peter's eyes, defeat, resignation, told Sirius of his sincerity. Sincerity after all of these years, after all that had happened, he didn't know what to do with it. He bit back the feelings of betrayal, loss, hate and concentrated on the few promising things. Peter was little by little, growing to hate the life he'd chosen, perhaps turning informant. All Sirius knew at the moment was that, if Peter hadn't informed him of Dumbledore and Hagrid's eminent danger, he would have had no other way of knowing. And, as it stood at the moment, unsure that they'd made it out of the ambush or not, was better than knowing they were dead. There might still be time on Sirius' side, and Peter was to thank for that. 

Sirius nodded. 

"And Peter," he added reluctantly as the other man turned to walk away, "I'll see what I can do for you, but for now I have to get to Dumbledore."

Peter nodded hopelessly and Apparated. 

Sirius did the same.

***

"How much do you know about why Ginny tried to kill herself?" Draco asked tentatively as he watched Bill's expression change from alarm to confusion and then to anger. 

"Are you trying to suggest that I don't know my own sister? I know that she's had a rough couple of years and that it has been hard for her to live with Percy's death. Why? Is there something that I'm missing here?" Bill asked, glaring at Draco, not sure if he would trust the rest of what he had to say or ignore him and stop wasting precious time that he could be looking for Ginny.

"There's a lot we're both missing," he said, setting Ginny's bag on the ground, a little surprised that Bill hadn't recognized it at least. Anyway he would keep that if there were anything in there to suggest what might have happened to her. He checked his watch. He couldn't spend much more time here. He had to get back to his grandmother's house and then out of the country as fast as he could. The link between Ginny and himself could lead to Lucy as a target and he had to get her back to England as safe and soon as he could. He wasn't willing to take any chances with her, as patronizing as that sounded. He also had another task that begged his urgent attention. He needed to find Hermione Granger as soon as possible. 

"And what's that, d'you suppose?" Bill asked, leaning back in his chair and massaging his temples, thinking of the best way to break it to his parents that Ginny had gone missing on his watch, leave off the fact that she'd tried to kill herself again a week and a half ago. 

"That her wanting to top herself was more than just depression." He stopped and took a claming breath, "I don't know how much you know about what happened two years ago, that whole Azkaban stint. I was there and I saw some pretty suspicious things surrounding your sister."

"How was it suspicious that she was taken along with the rest of them?" Bill interrupted incredulously. "She's a Weasley. Your father was probably targeting her specifically. It wouldn't have been the first time." He leveled a scrutinizing stare at Draco. 

Draco on the other hand had foreseen that events might turn to this. Name-calling and mud slinging, he could handle a lot of things with grace and endless patience, bad mouthing his father was one of them. He'd had sufficient practice—he might even join in if he felt so inclined, but shirking his father's reasons and actions onto him or his sister because they bore a resemblance and a name with him, that was another thing. 

"Right," he said. He'd made up his mind that he would leave off convincing her brother of Ginny's disappearance being linked with Voldemort at the first hint of hostility or doubt. He couldn't blame Bill for his reaction. If it were Lucy, he'd probably act in a similar fashion. But time was wasting and he couldn't spare another minute on Bill when Ginny was in trouble, if there was another way of finding the information he required to track her. And there was, no matter how unsavory, there was another way. Granger knew what was going on. He would have to collaborate with her to get Ginny back, no matter how loathsome the idea was to him. He would bite the bullet and do it if Ginny needed him to. He had the feeling that she would do the same for him. 

He stood up quickly and made for the door, leaving Bill to stare after him briefly before the Ministry wizard invited himself into the office for more questioning. Draco pushed past him roughly and purposefully, reaching into Ginny's bag and producing the piece of paper that had given him the smallest amount of hope. A list of sorts that read:

Hermione:

Confirm Gryffindor

Evidence for Gryffindor

Find Ravenclaw, leads?

French?

Ginny:

Pensieve

V. Dream, what does that mean?

Connection?

Another Pensieve?

Draco had no clue what this gibberish might stand for, but it had something to do with why she'd been acting strangely and Granger knew more about it than anyone else he could think of. She'd been helping Ginny to find out about whatever it was that was going on right before she was taken, that much was obvious. And throughout all of that, Tom Riddle was hunting her. He didn't like what it added up to, or what it didn't add up to even. 

***

As he gained the entryway of his grandmother's house, Draco was met with Portia, Lucy's house elf and companion. He was also met with the familiar sound of Prelude from Suite No. 1 in G Major as it wafted through the breeze in the opened windows of the music room. He followed the melody as the house elf followed him, all the while issuing orders for Portia to pack Miss Lucy's things immediately as they would be leaving as soon as they could be off. 

"Where's grandmother?" Draco asked, cutting into Lucy's solo. He knew it was rude, but now was no time for manners. 

"Gone since this morning with one of her boyfriends, I imagine," Lucy shrugged, lifting the bow from the strings and eyeing Draco with curiosity. "Why? What's the matter?" she asked with mild concern, flipping through her music and half listening for his answer. 

"We have to leave, I'm taking you home," Draco said shortly, moving to the writing desk to leave his grandmother a note explaining, in little detail, why they'd cut their trip short. 

"Don't be silly. I have a concert to attend tonight. The benefit, have you forgotten? Vasily Nabakov is playing tonight." She brushed him off and returned to her music. 

Finishing the note, Draco came over to where Lucy had turned the page and continued to play. Shutting the music he continued in a short, clipped tone, "We're leaving tonight and I don't care whether you want to or not." Seeing that Portia had just entered, turned to her and added, "How soon can you finish?"

"I'm finished now, sir. Portia just needs to know whether Miss Lucy will be wanting to take her cello with her?" The house elf turned to Lucy in anticipation of an order to pack the instrument or leave it. 

She stared from the elf to her brother and said nothing. 

"Lucy, stop being so damned childish. We're going home and you're not going to argue with me." He turned once again to Portia and commanded her in an unnecessarily harsh tone to, "Pack the damned thing. I want you ready to leave when I return," he added in a no less hostile voice as he trotted upstairs to pack his own things. He hadn't meant to yell at Lucy, he hardly ever raised his voice with her and he felt guilty for doing so now, but he really didn't have time to get into things. He had no idea how long it would take him to reach Granger and time wasn't exactly on his side. He hoped that when this was all over, Lucy would understand why he was so nervous to get her home and out of harm's way and forgive him for the language he'd used. 

When he'd returned to the entryway with his own bags, he was relived to see that Portia had already banished most of the luggage back to the manor. Lucy was still there, solemn and purposefully not meeting his eyes. She was angry with him. He took her hand, a little more roughly than necessary and Apparated home. 

***

"I don't understand," Hermione said, chewing the end of a quill pensively, "It doesn't seem right." She was staring at the sword that they'd just stolen from the Headmaster's office. "It's—I don't know…not the same as the one I saw. This is a fencing sword, not a broadsword like the one Godric handed Faramir. D'you suppose that this one's a replica?" 

"Oh, what the bloody hell is the difference? A sword is a sword, right?" Hermione scoffed at Ron's hard language, but Mrs. Weasley had just flown out of the house in the most agitated manner, muttering something about Bill and needing to get to the Ministry to tell Arthur. Hermione had no idea what that was all about, but Ron was free to use whatever language he wanted without her reproachful hand around to smack him when he used it. She was formulating the least know-it-all approach to this question, but never got the chance to voice it.

A knock came at the door in which Harry offered to answer. He obviously smelled a row forming and was eager to get out of the line of fire.

"What do _you_ want?" Harry asked, apparently surprised by the newcomer. Hermione and Ron both ceased their argument and craned their necks. Harry, sensing that they were trying to catch a glimpse of whom he was talking to, stepped outside and closed the door behind him, leaving only a crack for their eavesdropping convenience. Through it they heard the even more curious, "What do you want with her?"

Ron mouthed, "Who is he talking to?"

Hermione shrugged. 

Ron, not standing to be kept from anything in his own home, came to the door and opened it behind Harry only to be more shocked by the visitor than he'd anticipated. It was Draco Malfoy. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, ruffled by the surprise and therefore, unable to come up with any better phrase on such short notice. 

"I'm here to see Granger. But, as long as you two are around, you should probably hear me out as well, as it concerns the two of you almost as much." 

Hermione was on her feet now, recognizing the voice, came up behind Ron and invited Draco in. 

Ron glared but said nothing, at which point Hermione was surprised to note how mature Ron had become. Time was, he couldn't be stopped from compulsory insults when Malfoy was in the room. 

Draco knew how unwelcome he was here, he didn't pretend otherwise. He felt two pairs of eyes boring into the back of his head as he entered. He tried not to linger too long on the shabbily appointed kitchen that he was ushered into. 

"I went to your parents' house, first. But lucky me, they told me I could find you here," Draco said, raising his eyebrows with something like absolute loathing on top of determination. It was almost as if he were here against his will. 

"I think you'd better explain why it is exactly that you wanted to see me," Hermione said deceptively clam. She was really dreading anything that he had to say to her. It most certainly wouldn't be good news, considering the messenger and all. 

Harry and Ron sat on either side of her, all three staring at the solitary Draco seated at the other end of the table. Best just to hit them with it all at once, he thought.

Reaching into the bag, he brought out the pewter cup, already having made the connection that this was the very one that Ginny mentioned in her list. He looked pointedly at Hermione when he asked, "Have you seen this before?"

She was speechless. She managed a weak nod, to which Ron and Harry ceased their burning Malfoy with fire from their eyes and turned to look at Hermione questioningly. 

"Good, then you can help me," Draco said placing it on the table in front of him and brought out the list, handing it to Hermione, who was busy muttering, "Great, I've always said to myself, how might I best serve Draco Malfoy, and lucky me if today I don't just have that opportunity."

"Cute," he answered in a monotone that showed clearly that he was not amused and uninterested in nemesis-style banter. "Ginny went missing yesterday. I was with her just before she was taken. And I think I knew who it was that took her," he continued unceremoniously. "But your brother wouldn't believe me when I tried to tell him," he finished, his eyes falling on Ron at the last bit. 

Ron was on his feet, chair thrown back against the wall. Draco was on his feet as well, but did not advance as Ron had. 

"And even if we did believe you, which I'm not saying I do at this point, what would you expect us to do about it? Why not use the normal channels? Police, Ministry?" Harry asked as he and Hermione placed restraining hands on either of Ron's shoulders. 

"Are either of your parents here?" Draco asked as Harry picked up Ron's chair and Hermione urged him to sit again and hear Draco out. It was difficult to keep his temper in the company of two retards and their mother hen, but he took two calming breaths and continued regardless. "I suspect they wouldn't be, they've both gone to Paris where Ginny was last seen. As I suspect they, along with your brother, will be tied up there with some rent-a-cop Ministry fuck-up to run around in circles while the trail turns cold and Ginny could be hurt or worse."

"No more speculation," Hermione interrupted, "I know that he's telling the truth. Ginny stole that cup from the Louvre. It's a Pensieve," she began the long and arduous tale in which Ginny had suspected that her visions had been a foretelling of something ominous and how she just knew that the sarcophagus of Mungo (miss-marked in a Muggle museum no less) held the Pensieve that she was supposed to use to find the two other chosen ones. For Draco's benefit, she went further to explain that they'd found out that Harry was Gryffindor's heir (to which he rolled his eyes but remained unsurprised) and how they were still clueless as to the chosen one of Ravenclaw's. Harry's artifact was here and the Pensieve was Ginny's, but she still had some reservations about the authenticity of the sword). "So, what are you thinking?" she asked, turning to Draco, "who d'you guess took her?"

"Tom Riddle."

"You mean Voldemort," Harry scoffed at Draco as if he thought he was just terrified of the name. 

"No," Draco seethed, raising his eyebrows at Harry, "I mean who I said. He has somehow gained the ability to become his former self."

"But that would also mean—," Hermione began, but Draco finished for her, "he also has any former powers he'd had before his first downfall." He looked at Harry as he said this last bit, Harry felt, like he was judging him for doing a shoddy job of defeating him to begin with. There would be plenty of time for argument later and so Harry didn't waste any valuable seconds canvassing the subject. 

"I need to know," Draco continued, "How he got it all back, if I can. And what he needs Ginny for. If she's expendable, or if they're keeping her for some purpose."

"That's my sister, you're talking about, for Christ's sake," Ron shouted, slamming an open hand down hard on the table, causing Hermione to jump. 

"Well, he would need the seer, wouldn't he, to find the other two chosen?" she shrugged, taking the Pensieve in her hands and examining it. "That is," she continued skeptically, "if they know about her powers as a seer, and if they know about the chosen at all. The Founders, I believe, kept it from Slytherin and his daughter."

"Where did you get all of this from, the scene in the Pensieve? Could you show me? That would help, I think," Draco asked tentatively. 

Hermione nodded, "In fact, I think it would do Harry good to see it as well. It's the best evidence I have for you as Faramir's heir," she added to Harry as she quickly found the ingredients to fill the cup with its silver memory stimulation liquid. 

The four of them were suddenly thrust into the very scene that Hermione herself had witnessed only a month before with Ginny by her side. She hadn't registered the panic at the moment Draco had said it, but she suddenly felt a pang of worry for her already stressed and weary friend. She muttered a silent prayer that Ginny could find the strength to hang on until they could find a way to her—and they would find a way to her, Hermione was certain. 

***

            "Hermione?" Ron asked as the scene faded from view and the four of them were huddled a little too closely around the small cup. 

            "What is it, Ron?" Hermione asked wearily, moving away to the table, where she'd jotted some thoughts down on Ginny's list. 

            "What was that thing, Faramir was given?" 

            "He was given Gryffidor's sword, and that's why Isaiah was so upset," she began to explain, but Ron fervently shook his head. 

            "How dim do you think I am?" He shot Draco a look as he appeared to want to answer for Hermione. "I meant the pin thing that he gave him, pinned it to his robe before handing over the sword."

            Hermione stopped writing and with wide eyes turned to Ron and kissed him full on the lips, causing everyone in the room to shift uncomfortably and avoid eye contact. "Ron! You're a genius!" she exclaimed, running up the stairs and then back into the kitchen where she slammed a large book down on the table and bent over it to flip the pages, scanning for something in particular. Draco came to look over her shoulder with interest. 

            It was a Muggle book: _Arms and Armor of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. _

"What's with the art index?" Harry asked. 

            "It was a gift from Anni. I think Ron may be on to something. It was a very distinct looking fibula, a pin that held cloaks in place. Part of medieval dress, Gryffindor's was very ornate for someone of Faramir's station. I don't imagine that he actually wore it, just sort of kept it hidden and passed it through his line." She stopped at a page of such rudimentary jewelry. 

            Draco had to agree with her. It was the most elaborate one of its kind. And horribly dated—it looked at least four hundred years older than the exhibit gave it credit for. 

            "Of course, it was staring me in the face the entire time," she whispered. "You need the fibula along with the sword, which is authentic, by the way. It's disguised though. It looks like a rapier, fencing sword—," she continued. 

            "I know what a rapier is," Draco said hotly. 

            "But Ron and Harry don't," she said, silencing him. 

            Draco was growing impatient. They needed to find that fibula thing and the Ravenclaw heir and be on their way. He couldn't stand the thought of Ginny in the clutches of Voldemort—or worse, his father who was sure to be close by. 

            "Anyway, Dumbledore must've disguised it to throw anyone off who might be looking for it."

            "So what do I need to do," Harry asked. 

            "Take a page out of Ginny's book and lift it," Hermione shrugged. "The sword will be useless to you without it. It's the only way the heir of Slytherin can be stopped."

            "You're saying that I'm supposed to go to New York and just walk into this museum and out with a nine hundred year old pin—one that's behind glass and security and everything?" Harry asked skeptically. 

            "You have your invisibility cloak and Anni," Hermione said brightly. "She's an Art History major? Isn't that right? She's interning at the Museum. How perfect is that? It'll be a cinch, Harry."

            He didn't look too sure. Draco looked even less so. He had no idea who this Anni person was and prayed that they weren't going to bring anyone untrustworthy into this situation. 

            "Right," Harry said a little more confidently, "I'll go get my stuff and be off then."

            "No plan? No strategy?" Draco asked incredulously to his retreating form. 

            "No, I'll improvise," Harry admitted, disappearing up the stairs to Percy's old room where he'd been staying and returned momentarily with a bag full of necessities. With the time difference, and Apparating faster than time could move over the time zones, he figured he would have to stay with Anni until the Museum opened tomorrow. 

            "Gryffindors," Draco muttered to himself. 

            "What will you do while I'm gone?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione, pointedly looking at Draco. 

            "I'll do some more research around here, see what I can come up with on the other chosen one," Hermione shrugged. 

            "No," Draco corrected. "There's a better library at my place. I know there's got to be something there on the other heir, and guaranteed there's anything you want on Slytherin there as well." He turned to Harry and added, "When you have the fibula, Apparate directly to Malfoy Manor, I'll have the wards down for you by then." Seeing Hermione's apprehension, he added in a tired sort of tone, "My father's not there at the moment and we won't be bothered, I assure you."

            Ron looked mutinous, but Hermione nodded her agreement and it was all settled. 

***

            Draco watched Ron pace methodically in the lawn beneath the window, hands in his pockets and a sickeningly worried scowl on his face. Draco felt the oddest twinge of empathy for him. He knew how it felt to have a sister in trouble, unable to be of immediate help to her. All you could do was wait. He hated waiting and from the looks of things, it was the one thing he had in common with Weasley. It was not a warm and fuzzy feeling and so Draco cast about the room in search of something to occupy his attention. 

            Hermione sat at the computer clicking furiously away at the keys of a computer. She'd been trying to crack the encoding system that Ginny had installed and was having slow success. 

            Draco stopped at a shelf full of girly figurines and the likes of which you'd normally find in a girl's room after all. There were also pictures. Family photos, a picture of Ron and Ginny as toddlers, Ginny stealing Ron's pacifier innocently. 

            "Who's this?" Draco interrupted, showing Hermione a picture of Ginny and a dark, curly-haired girl with glowing blue eyes, pretty but she had nothing on Ginny in Draco's opinion. The two of them sat on the log outside that Ron was pacing next to, the dark-haired girl behind Ginny with her arms around the redhead, they were both smiling and laughing. It was perhaps the happiest that he'd seen Ginny, then the next minute he'd wished he'd known her before all of this, before she'd become so desperate and unhappy. His father had had a lot to do with why she was so sad and hopeless now. He knew that there was a lot that he should be sorry for with regards to her family. He began to doubt that anything that he might have hoped would happen between them would never work. They lived on opposite sides of the fence, different camps and all of that. Perhaps she had never been interested in him from the beginning. 

            "That's Anni, George's fiancé," she replied after a second's recognition of the girl in the photo. 

            "The Anni that Harry went to see in New York?" Draco asked, surprised. 

            "Yes," Hermione answered distractedly, manipulating the screens to show Ginny's journal as she pulled it up from the hard-drive and began reading. 

            "Chummy little group, aren't we?" he muttered. 

            "Actually, it's Harry's cousin, that's how she met George. She's not a witch. She attends school in the states." Draco nodded. That made more sense, with reference to the earlier mention of her name. He didn't know her, but if she was involved personally, as evidenced by the regard shown in the photo, she could be trusted. 

            "Bingo," Hermione said, pulling up an entry from Ginny's fourth year. "Oh, well that's mostly about Harry," she said, quickly minimizing that page as Draco came to read over her shoulder. It was such a violation of her privacy, but it was the best way to know what was going on. Hermione was feeling guilty but quickly justified it. Ginny would forgiver her anyway, she always did. 

            "Ah, here we are—," Hermione said finally, but then gasped as she read further, Draco was right behind her. "Oh God!"

            It was not as the two had suspected. Voldemort surely knew of Ginny's ability of a seer. It was definitely the reason that she was specifically targeted. That automatically led to her as Helga's heir. But the shocking realization that appeared in this particular entry was what explained her many suicide attempts: Voldemort had used her—her blood to revive his old memory of Tom Riddle. The same one that had spent a year terrorizing the poor girl before trying to feed off of her in the end to regain his former strength. He was his old self, in power, strength and looks—deceptively handsome. He still had yet to achieve immortality, but that was what this whole elaborate scheme was about, wasn't it?

            "Poor Ginny," Hermione added, one fist clenched over her trembling lips as she read on. 

            Draco's grip tightened like a vice on the back of her chair as he continued, reading each word of Ginny's recounting with rage, disgust and sympathy. It must have been hard to live through and live with as well. 

            Hermione printed out some of the most important entries and shoved them into Ginny's bag with some of her own books and the Pensieve. She handed the sword of Gryffindor to Draco and added, "We'd better get Ron and be off then."

***

            Harry scanned the address of an old letter of Anni's. This must be the place. It wasn't shabby, but it wasn't grand, Fifth Avenue either. 

            He knocked. 

            "Who's that?" a short blond asked, opening the door and surveying Harry. Before he'd had a chance to answer she added, "We don't want whatever it is you're selling, kid," and slammed the door without another word. 

            Off to a great start, Harry thought as he knocked again. "Shove off," was all he got. The lag from Apparating through time zones was making him edgy and he blamed Hermione for this stupid plan. 

            "Is Anni there?" He called, a bit frustrated, through the thin door. 

            "Harry?" Anni asked, opening the door a crack and then all the way as she'd recognized him, "Harry, it is you! I thought I heard your voice. Don't mind Billy, she's always rude to people who come 'round—someone always wanting to sell something. You look like crap Harry, d'you know that?"

            "Thanks," was all he could manage. 

            Anni was different than when he'd last seen her. Although her hair was short last time, it was only bleached on the tips. Now, her hair was entirely purple. An eyebrow ring and a nose ring accented the purple hair just enough to make her look like nearly everyone else her age that he'd seen on the street. 

            "Does George like that?" he asked pointing to the eyebrow ring. 

            She smiled impishly. "He likes this better," she answered sticking out her tongue where another hole was carved with a silver ball protruding from it. It would have been enough to give Uncle Vernon the heart attack that would do him in for good. Harry shook his head. That was Anni for you. 

            Anni led him to the back of her small flat and into her room, taking his stuff from him and throwing it in a corner she commanded him to sit and promptly demanded, "spill!"

            And spill he did, everything that he knew regarding the events surrounding Ginny's disappearance. Anni was shocked and upset to hear that her favorite little sister and friend had been taken to God knows where and wanted Harry to take her back with him, to which he adamantly refused. She settled instead for helping Harry with his mission here in New York. 

            But not tonight, the Museum would be closed. 

            Harry, more exhausted than he'd been in a while, never having experienced Apparation Lag, was asleep almost before he'd finished his story and they'd come up with a workable plan of action for tomorrow's big heist. 

***

            It was like déjà vu when he entered the Arms and Armor room of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, led by Anni who had a tight grip on his hand. He stayed close behind her as not to get bumped into. That would surely cause a scene if a Muggle inadvertently bumped into an invisible person. Harry was under his cloak. They thought it would be best this way. Anni could remain close and serve as the lookout, keep people from treading on him and watch for the security to pass by. 

            The glass was another big obstacle, but Harry had made glass disappear before, no problem. The hard part would come in doing it without arousing suspicion—and putting it back. The last time he'd done this, he hadn't even turned eleven yet and he'd trapped Dudley in a python's cage at the London Zoo, without a wand. 

            Anni had spent all evening, while Harry was passed out in her room, looking through the book Hermione had left him, to help them along. Standard Book of Spells Grade Six. She'd found the exact charm that Harry had used the first time without even being aware of it. 

            The next problem was getting the real fibula out, without getting them sent downtown for booking. Earlier that morning, it had come to Harry—Transfigure another object to look like the one in the book. It would have to be an object that closely resembled the fibula and Anni frantically looked around the flat before a perspective candidate turned up in Billy's room: a crucifix that had hung on the wall (Billy was obviously a devout-on-certain-occasions Catholic. She might not even notice that it had gone missing, or maybe she would. In any case Anni had resolved to get her a new one). 

            Harry set to the difficult task of transferring the properties of the fibula to the crucifix, replacing Jesus with a series of early Christian/Pagan symbols and runes. When he'd finished, the cross no longer had its ornate silver filigree and shiny finish. It was now dull and ancient looking, with a clasp on the back and tiny, dull rubies encrusted in cloisonné on the front—slightly shabbier than the real fibula—but it would serve its purpose beautifully. McGonagall would have been proud. 

            Now, as Harry saw the fibula up close, he'd had the strangest feeling that he'd seen it before, like in a dream. 

            "Ok, the docent's rounded the corner, you're all clear, Harry," Anni called, nudging her invisible companion, slightly unbalancing him. 

            "I'm invisible, not dead, Anni. You don't have to keep nudging me to make sure I'm still here," Harry whispered back exasperatedly, removing his wand from the bag and whispering the charm that caused the glass of that particular case to disappear. 

            "Right, sorry," she whispered back, eyeing a Japanese couple warily as they passed through the room and into the next. 

            Harry removed the crucifix-turned-fibula from his bag and reached into the case. He retrieved the real fibula, far heavier than the fake one (real gold, Harry imagined) and placed the crucifix on its stand. The Transfiguration would wear off in about a day or so. But Harry would be long gone by then. 

            Placing the ancient piece of jewelry in the bag, wrapping it in a shirt for extra measure, he turned and proceeded to close up the glass again. Just as he'd muttered the countercharm that restored the glass to its pane, he heard Anni whisper the words that made him freeze, "Oh shit!"

            The docent had rounded the corner jut in time to have seen a strange glint as the shine of glass replaced the dull space where it had gone missing just seconds before. Anni pretended not to notice this, but made her way over to the woman, recognizing her, as she was an intern here. 

            The woman shifted her suspicious glance to Anni, one of only three people in the room. Anni, before walking over to where the woman stood blinking, whispered to Harry, "Get out of here. I've got this."

            "Did you just see that, Anni? I think my mind is messing with me," the tall black woman admitted. 

            "See what?" Anni asked, before tripping headlong into a marble table and causing it to wobble precariously. She pretended to knock her head into it and crumple to the ground. The woman gave a gasp and then reached for her walkie-talkie to call for help. "A visitor has been injured in section three, possible harm to artifact," the woman squealed into the radio. 

            Careful not to ram into anyone in his invisible state, Harry turned only momentarily to awe over the scene Anni had created. Swarms of concerned tourists and frantic security personnel swarmed around the area and the odd shimmer that the glass returning to its pane had caused was completely forgotten. Fred and George would have marveled at her skill, but Harry had not the time to do so now. 

            He slipped out of the building and into the alleyway nearest the large building where he took off his cloak and placed it inside his bag. He went and sat on the grand steps at the front of the Museum to wait for Anni.  


	15. Just A Dot

Disclaimer: I own my stuff and Rowling hers. Blah, blah, blah. 

Author's Note: As Ralph Waldo Emerson put it, "Tis the good reader that makes a good book." So please, if you like what you're reading, make it a good book and review. It's very much appreciated. 

Hibiscus: Thank you for the review. Really, I just wanted to know if I had any readers. Now that I know I have one out there somewhere, don't feel you have to review for my sake. Only if you feel like it. Thanks again. 

Chapter Fifteen

Just a Dot

_"At times life's unfair _

_And you know it's plain to see_

_Hey, God I know _

_I'm just a dot in this world_

_Have you forgot about me?"_

_Creed: 'Don't Stop Dancing.'_

            Anni, upon her return, found Harry at her kitchen table, examining the fibula in earnest.

            "You were supposed to wait for me," she scolded, pulling a chair up next to him to watch on as he checked the authenticity of the artifact with the picture in the book. 

            "Yes," Harry answered, not looking up from his work, "And I did wait for nearly an hour. Where have you been?"

            "I'll have you know that I've just lost my internship, thank you very much," she said hotly, "Apparently I broke that hideous elephant thing I ran into. I obviously didn't realize what a thick head I've got." She smiled as Harry's head shot up at her announcement. 

            "Anni, I'm sorry," he put the fibula back inside of the bag and secured the clasp of it to insure that it wouldn't jostle about, or in any other way come to harm. "I didn't mean to cause you this much trouble. I never thought that I would get you taken out of your internship."

            She shrugged and waved him off, "It's a pretty kick-ass museum, but there are plenty of others in town. I'll find something, don't you worry. Besides," she added brightly, "I'd do anything at all to help Ginny out, busting up the joint wasn't what we originally had in mind, but I had to improvise a little."

            "We owe you a lot," Harry added appreciatively, standing and shouldering the bag. 

            "You don't owe me a thing, Harry. We're family and all that sentimental shit, I would do anything for you or the Weasleys, you know that." 

            "Yeah, I know," Harry agreed. She grabbed him roughly into a hug and kissed him on the forehead, pretending to fawn over him like an overprotective parent. Harry received the attentions with patience and then finally said his goodbyes. He didn't expect to see her again until Christmas and the wedding. 

            "Thanks again, for everything," Harry turned to say before Apparating. 

            "Anything for you, sweetheart," Anni chirped in a ridiculous tone and waved—never count on her to be serious on any occasion. 

***

                        Hermione sat looking through some indeterminably old books on the Founders, possibly first editions, and intermittently stealing glances at the enigmatic blond just a few feet away behind a mahogany desk.  Shutting the text in her hands with a decisive clap, calling Draco's attention from the list in Ginny's handwriting that he'd been studying meticulously (however little information there was to glean from it) it was time now to get some things straight. 

            "Is there something you wanted?" Draco asked in a disinterested monotone, looking up from the page in his hand only momentarily. 

            "I want to know a lot of things, but for now I'll settle with the answer as to how you came to be the one person that was last to see Ginny before she was taken," Hermione asked in as straightforward a voice as she could manage under the wilting stare Draco leveled on her. She hadn't expected him to answer, yet she had nothing else to go on. Ginny had never mentioned that she'd seen him in all of her time spent there in Paris. It seemed more than curious to her. She was fighting with suspicion in exchange for the benefit of the doubt.  He 'd proven that he was no Voldemort supporter long ago, as far back as Azkaban. She'd plainly witnessed his defiance of his father that broke only when the elder Malfoy's anger had been leveled on an innocent student in the same cell with him, a slight, raven-haired Slytherin.  She had been distraught herself at the time, but no too messed up not to catch onto Draco's waning sympathies to his father's cause. Other factors might have had an influence as well, but she wasn't nosy enough to pry. She only wanted the facts that surrounded his connection to Ginny. 

            She was surprised when he heaved a sigh at the impertinent but well intended question and began to relate the events of the past month, "I'm not sure you should be hearing this from me, but it's just as well that you know everything. Were you around the last time she tried to kill herself?" he began tentatively. 

            Hermione was shocked to be hearing of her close friend's unfortunate history related so casually by a long time enemy of herself, her friends and her family (the Weasleys nearly counted as such, as she'd been taken under their wing long ago). She found her voice and swallowed her surprise expertly. "Yes, I have a feeling that it was to do with all of this, but I didn't know it at first. How do you know about that?" 

            "She's tried it again, just a week and a half before she was taken. An overdose. Sleeping pills and alcohol.  I found her unconscious on the floor of her flat," Draco didn't meet Hermione's eyes and missed the openly stunned and disbelieving look she gave him. "We were at the opera with my sister. Ginny saw something that frightened her and tried to kill herself that night. When I heard what she'd seen from Lucy, I went back there immediately. I thought Tom would have gotten to her by then, but the bastard was just messing with her. She did it, I imagine, out of desperation. She didn't want to be used by him and he's not finished with her yet." He paused a moment and shrugged, "I don't know, it would scare the hell out of me, anyway."

            Hermione nodded her agreement, "I only want to know one more thing and I'll leave it alone, I promise," she continued. Draco shook his head and then resigned the fight. She had the right to know all right. This was her friend they were discussing, after all. 

            "What is it? I can't promise I'll answer it, but you can ask. There's no stopping you, apparently," he added with just enough sarcasm to keep the atmosphere neutral. It was a little uncomfortable to be having this chat with Granger. If seething impatience could lighten the mood any, it was certainly welcome. 

            "Do you love her, you think?" she asked picking up her book again, expecting no answer and resigned to leave it at that. 

            He gave the question some thought and nearly startled Hermione when he finally did reply, "You know, I don't think I'd bother with all of this for someone I don't give a damn about."

            Hermione thought it bold enough that he'd even given an answer and, having little experience in reading Draco Malfoy's underlying expressions, she took him to be sincere. 

***

            Lucy had been working for months on a revolutionary way of developing Polyjuice Potions. As advanced as these mixtures were, at Lucy's age, she found them rather tame compared with more dangerous draughts that she'd come across occasionally in her father's library. It was here that an illegal potion had inspired her rethinking of the Polyjuice procedure. 

            Since she'd perfected her own version of the potion, three years ago, she'd spent her time in the underground laboratory that her family's manor house drawing up the proposals and research thesis to pitch to the Department on Experimental Charms. It was quite an ambition for a fourteen-year-old, but the possibilities were limitless. 

            The theory behind it all was tiresome and tedious and Lucy found herself biting back yawns as she cited the book of dark magic she'd originally been inspired by. A little daring, this she knew, but her potion wasn't nearly as dangerous and twice as useful. She was really distracting herself from the disturbing news her brother had just imparted to her when he'd returned to Malfoy Manor with Ron and Hermione. She thought she would be the best help to them if she just kept out of the way. In reality, who would beseech the help of a small girl in a wheelchair? She was used to the stereotype by now and rationalized that it was best to let people think what they wanted, they were comfortable in their misconceptions and she was not one to correct total strangers—that was rude. 

            Honestly, she was also avoiding Draco. She was a little startled when he'd returned to their grandmother's home in Paris and ordered her to pack up quickly, they were leaving. He'd yelled and sworn at her; something he'd never really done and she was still shocked by that fact. It had to be hard for him to beg the help of his school enemies. But she knew that they would be just as eager to help as she was. It was Ginny, after all, who was in trouble and, without even knowing either Ron or Hermione, she never doubted that they wanted Ginny back safe and would do anything to achieve that. 

            Staying clear of the three of them and letting them figure this out on their own was the best way she could think of helping. And so she made herself scarce. But, she thought a second later as a figure appeared out of nowhere in the middle of her laboratory, crashing into a table, she hadn't made herself scarce enough.

            "Careful, Love. That's hydrochloric acid you've just knocked over," she laughed, making her way over to the mess Harry had just created in her once very orderly lab. "Here, let me help you," she added, checking her laughter as he looked awfully worn and tired. Taking his arm that was turning red as he'd gotten the smallest amount of the corrosive ingredient on him, she brandished her wand and cleared it up with a well placed medical charm. "Do try to be careful next time, would you? It's rude to go around smashing up a complete stranger's work area as if you were an out-of-control rock band," she warned in a joking manner, winking at him before returning to the desk and carefully covering and concealing her work, she turned back to Harry. 

            "Have they gotten far? Do they know who the Ravenclaw heir is? Have they figured out where Ginny's been taken?" Harry asked, sitting and removing his glasses to massage his temples.

            "I'm told nothing," she said, holding up her hands hopelessly. She wished that she could tell him something, if only to keep him around a second longer. But he would naturally be eager for news and she didn't have any, so he would have to find the others. And, depressingly enough, she would go back to work and try to ignore the fact that Harry Potter was in her house. "You do look really bad, you know?"

            Harry shrugged and then added as an afterthought, "You shouldn't tell people that they look bad. It's rude, you know?"

            "Well, I'm being honest. You really shouldn't have come back immediately. Apparating between time zones can be tricky, especially Apparating twice in the course of twenty-four hours and against the natural flow of time at that. You must be tired," she finished, raising her eyebrows in the hopes that she could be the smallest bit of help to someone if they would just take her up on the offer.  

            "I need to find Malfoy, Ron and Hermione," he said, standing and replacing his glasses determinedly. Lucy gave a mental sigh, of course he did. It was selfish of her for even thinking of monopolizing him. 

            "Portia's just outside the door. She will be glad to take you to Draco," Lucy said, unceremoniously, turning to her store of ingredients wasted on the ground where Harry had crashed into them and began to clean up. 

            Harry nodded, but said nothing more and left immediately, closing the door behind him. 

            Lucy set back to her mindless work and cursed herself mentally for being a coward and a useless invalid. But, seconds later, she became frustrated in her half hearted attempts at distracting herself and decided fresh air was the best thing for self-pity. 

***

            After Harry had explained to them how he'd finally recovered the fibula with Anni's help, he set himself to the task of digging through volume after volume on obscure facts about the Hogwarts Founders and the like, just as Hermione had done for the past four hours. Hermione was taking a break and had curled up on the sofa.

Malfoy had left almost immediately after Harry had finished speaking and hadn't returned for the remainder of the evening. 

Ron had disappeared to who knows where, and that was no exaggeration. Malfoy Manor was enormous and the grounds expansive. He could have been anywhere. 

            As Harry had been struggling to keep his focus, yawning intermittently, the small house elf that belonged to Lucy entered and scurried over to him. 

            "I will show you to your room, sir if you would like," she offered. Harry glanced at Hermione who looked just as comfortable on the couch as she would have in a bed, asleep for the moment, with no sign of returning to consciousness soon. 

            Harry took her up on the offer, feeling his eyelids growing heavier by the moment. He would be of no help to Ginny like this.

            The elf showed him into a sizable room at the end of a long corridor on the first floor of the house. Harry was grateful for the comforting noise of a crackling fire lighting the grate against one wall and an enormous bed on the opposite side. 

            Thanking the elf for her attentions he shut the door and climbed under the warm, enveloping linen fully clothed and gave in almost immediately to the sleep deprivation that had been nagging at him since he'd arrived in New York nearly eighteen hours ago. 

*** 

            Draco had had just about enough of Harry Potter, the boy hero's stories of near misses and daring capers with his wonder cousin. He knew it was petty, this grudge he still harbored against him, but he wasn't one to let things go easily. 

            The only sound he'd heard on this side of the house was his feet on the cold marble floor. Hardly anyone came down this way, and that was why Draco liked it so much. He was alone. Now he could think properly. 

            He walked down the rows of rapiers, like Potter's. Some had blunted tips. Those he didn't mess with. Running his hand idly along the hilt of each of these faux weapons, his fingertips came to rest on that of his sword—fencing sword like all the rest, only this one had no blunted edge, no guarded tip. That was the point, whether for practice or not, each action, each practiced movement had its consequence hanging on the sharp edge of the blade. He wouldn't gloss over the unsavory side of things. Life was life. People got hurt—some died, others killed them. There was no protective edge on life. 

            He'd gone through the drill before. Now he did it mechanically, but with fluid grace. His father had taught him everything he knew about fencing. His father had taught him virtually everything he knew—about anything. That wasn't a pleasant realization. 

            Slashing one way, jabbing another, sparring an invisible opponent—Draco thought best in this atmosphere. He was dismayed at how little information he'd actually gleaned from Granger, more he reasoned, than he'd known before, but only enough to figure out Voldemort's motives (basic motives) and how it involved Ginny and Potter. The other individual involved was still a mystery that they were coming no closer to solving. They didn't even know where Ginny had been taken. 

            For the first time in he didn't even care to calculate how long, Draco felt hopeless—without options. But he would not entertain the thought that it might be too late for Ginny. If he was still breathing on this earth, there was a chance he could get to her. 

            He clenched his jaw, furious for letting the thought that she might already be gone creep into his mind, he made a violent lunge to strike his unseen nemesis. Then the nemesis became real and present. 

            "Tuck in on your left side, you leave yourself open entirely. I would have had you sliced open and your entrails on the floor in half a second's time," a voice drawled coldly from the doorway.  It was his father. 

            Drano nodded, recovering his cool facade before turning around to greet the familiar voice. His first thought was automatically with Granger, Potter and Wesley. He hoped that they had enough sense and decorum not to wander about in another person's home, especially Lucius Malfoy's home. There was a chance that they hadn't been detected and if so, he could keep it that way if they remained where they were. "Yes, father," he answered in the same monotone as the older man. 

            "Cut your trip a bit short, have you?" Lucius asked with a knowing smile. Typical, Draco thought. He knew just about everything. Then he wondered if his father had followed him as far as the Weasleys'. His answer came in the next second.

            "Is your sister with you?" he asked with disdain. Draco knew he hadn't followed him back to England, probably as far as Rue du Grand Cours where he'd picked up Lucy and wasted no more time with him. He wouldn't have asked if he'd seen Draco leave with her. 

            "Yes, she's here. Although, I couldn't say where exactly at the moment," Draco said, revealing nothing with his features or his tone. 

            "Wild little terror. Running about like a heathen. Not even paralyzing the little wretch keeps her still or out of one's business," he commented with the slightest bit of disgust.

            Draco took a claming breath and reminded himself that raging against his father's treatment of Lucy would get him nowhere just now. It was best to play it out, see what he wanted. His father had not become suspicious of Draco's wavering loyalty. Indeed, Draco was still unsure of it himself. 

            "I have a proposition for you," his father said, changing subject and continuing in a brighter tone. If by brighter, one means amused at the prospect of fathomless of death and torture on the horizon, Lucius Malfoy seemed to brighten as he changed subject.  

            "What is that?" Draco asked, setting his sword aside and following his father out of the room and down the hall. 

*** 

            Lucy went out into the garden to enjoy the bright sky at night, lit by the full moon. She was frustrated with everything and everyone inside that house. She saw first hand the animosity her brother shared with Harry and his two friends. Working with them would not be made easier by bickering. They didn't seem as if they could stay in the same room with each other. And that behavior would not help Ginny. 

Looking out into the rolling expanse of hills behind the manor, she suddenly missed her horse, Master Shakespeare. It had been so long ago that she'd ridden him over these grassy hills. He'd nearly taken the blame and the consequences for her almost fatal accident three years ago. She fought hard for that horse. He'd almost been put down for the crimes of another. She sent him to France to live with her grandmother where he would be safe. But, of course, she would never ride him again and her visits there were few and far between. 

"Oh, Christ. There's another one!" an angry voice spat from somewhere behind her, causing Lucy to start slightly. As she turned back to the terrace she saw Ginny's brother, Ron, sitting there. She hadn't met him as such, but she knew who he was immediately, aided by Ginny's faithful description of him. She couldn't see right away why Ginny was so fond of him as he glared menacingly at her, but she figured that it was just an act. He was probably not himself in an unfamiliar environment, with so much more to worry about on top of all of that. 

"Another one what?" she asked curiously, not that she didn't already get his meaning. She was determined to be kind and charitable to any guest in her home, no matter how scathing they were to her. There were far more vile creatures passing through this house on her father's invitation as to make this one sarcastic redhead no threat at all. "Another Malfoy? Is that your meaning? You need not be alarmed on my account. I don't see how you could find me threatening in the least," she said indicating her wheelchair. He hadn't seemed to notice before. That was the extent of his distraction. She smiled as curiosity replaced the malice in his features and then melted into a sheepish look of embarrassment as he muttered an apology for his lack of manners and observation skills. 

"It's quite alright. I don't take offense, I'm used to it. What are you doing out here? Don't you think you should get some sleep? You've got to be exhausted," she finished, surveying him with concern. 

"Yes, I am exhausted," he admitted with a labored nod. "But I can't sleep. I'm worried about my sister. I should—," he began and then eyed the girl who sat across from him listening intently and stopped. 

"You feel as if you should be doing something?" Lucy answered for him and he stared back, unblinkingly. 

"I can't get to her. I've broken my promise, the promise I made that day in the hospital. I told her that I would never leave her alone to deal with this by herself. She tried to kill herself again and I didn't even know about it and now she could be…she could be—," he stopped again and looked to the ground. He couldn't put into words what he thought might happen to his sister and his promise to her didn't mean anything. He couldn't protect her. 

"She knows you'll get to her if you can. But, from what I know about her, Ginny's not entirely helpless herself. She's capable of handling this on her own," Lucy said in a confident tone. 

Ron wanted to argue, after all who was this little girl anyway? What did she know about Ron or his family? But she spoke surely and held his gaze confidently. She was undeterred and affected a knowing sort of grace that made one easy around her and completely assured by her words. "You do need to sleep, however. You're no good to us this way," she urged with a kind smile. "I'll show you to your room if you like. I can have some tea brought up as well."

Ron nodded, knowing she was right. He'd seen her at first as an enemy that he could use as a distraction from his self -loathing reverie and, as it turned out, she'd become even more useful as someone to confide in. He was comforted tremendously by her kind and unobtrusive attention. His last thought in seeing her retreat from the room she'd shown him into, was how different she was from her brother. 

He burrowed under the covers of the enormous bed and gave into the nagging tiredness that had been prodding at the back of his mind the entire time. He was asleep the instant his head hit the pillow, finally having relieved himself of some of the guilt he was feeling about Ginny. He was still worried into a frenzy, but sleep won out this time.  

Lucy closed the door and left Ron to himself. She'd seen him drink down the last of the tea on the tray and then yawn. She felt the slightest twinge of guilt in having laced the drink with a mild sleeping potion, but it was better than having him waste the entire night with tossing and fitful sleep. He would feel well rested in the morning and as a result could spend his time in a more productive manner than sitting in dark corners and startling her wherever she went. 

"It's time to prove where your loyalties lay, son," she heard, causing her to stop just short of rounding the corner to the library. It was her father's voice. Peaking around the bend, Lucy saw that he was speaking to an interested Draco. This would prove very useful information, she decided, settling herself into a position that she could both hear and see from that was also concealed enough to hide her if either of them chanced a look in this direction. 

"I know that you've spent a fair amount of time in the company of this girl. I won't comment on your strange taste in women, Draco. I only warn you not to become attached to the Weasley girl, she has other uses, I don't doubt. But, once the Dark Lord has his information from her, she will die." He stopped just in front of the library, placing a hand on the door as if just about to enter. Lucy gave a start, realizing just then that Hermione was still in there. 

"She means nothing to me, I assure you," Draco answered mechanically. He sounded so convincing that it alarmed Lucy slightly. Lucius smiled at the lack of sentiment. Whether he believed his son or not, Lucy couldn't tell. 

"The Dark Lord has requested your presence as well. It will be historic. He is making a bid for immortality and he wishes for you to be present. You know he has high expectations for you, as have I. I don't need to remind you of the effort he has invested in your grooming. You could be a great leader some day. That is our hope. You shouldn't pass this opportunity up, Draco," he continued, opening the door and entering, motioning for Draco to follow. Lucy gasped and covered her mouth. Maybe Hermione had gotten up and gone to bed along with the others. That was a little optimistic, but it was all Lucy could hope for right now. 

***  

Hermione woke to the sounds of conversation outside of the door. She vaguely remembered Harry coming back and telling them that the fibula had been obtained with only the slightest of hitches. She wondered how long she'd been asleep, but was frozen to her spot in the next instant when she caught the unmistakably cold drawl of Lucius Malfoy. As she listened closely she could make out some of the conversation. He was talking to Draco. She distinctly heard him mention "the Weasley girl." So, of course he was in on it. She strained to hear Draco's comments, a little harder to decipher over the dominating tones of his father. But she heard his reply, meticulous and calculated, "She means nothing to me, I assure you." 

Her breath caught in her throat and she was unsure what to make of all of this. She was predisposed to think that Draco had only good intentions toward Ginny. But she hadn't the time right now to mull over it all in her mind. She heard the clanking of antique hardware near the entrance. Someone's hand was on the doorknob. They would enter and find her there. 

She desperately cast about for someplace to hide herself. 

She heard Lucius' pitch to his son about the positive effect that Voldemort's favor could have on his pending career in the Dark Arts. She would have scoffed if she'd had a moment to spare. 

Then she saw it and the perfect opportunity to keep her eavesdropping vantage point and stay hidden, free from detection all at once. Harry had left his bag at the foot of the chair he'd been sitting in before he'd gone off to bed. She whispered a prayer thanking Harry for being so careless with his things and quickly grabbed up the bag and slipped the invisibility cloak over her, just as he door opened, admitting Lucius Malfoy and Draco. 

She could see the relieved look that passed briefly over the younger Malfoy's features as he scanned the room and found none of them there and no sign that they had been there previously. Lucius looked as he always did to her: evil beyond compare. 

"Of, course," Lucius continued, "you have the choice to decline if you wish. But I would council you against that. It is better if he is convinced of your loyalty early on." He sat in the deep leather armchair behind the mahogany desk Draco had occupied earlier that day. "He wouldn't even suspect me of what I'm planning at this very moment," he leaned back and smiled a smile that clearly showed how pleased he was with himself. She was intrigued, but she kept her mind on the issue at hand. 

Hermione thought of their earlier conversation. Had he seemed sincere to her when she'd asked about his intentions with Ginny, or had she seen what she wanted to see and ignored the truth completely? She began to doubt everything and, more dangerous than that, she began to doubt if Ginny could be helped if the people that had her were half as cunning and malicious as the two people seated in front of her. (Well, one for sure, the other was still doubtful). 

"I'll take your council. What time are we expected?" Draco said after a moment's deliberation. 

Lucius smiled an elegant, but greedy Cheshire cat like smile, "Perfect, we will leave as soon as you've changed. It's rather cold this time of evening where we're going."

Draco nodded and stood to execute his orders as swiftly as he could, unaware of Hermione's mutinous gaze on him the entire time. 

*** 

"Get up Potter," Draco commanded, kicking the bed post impatiently. 

"What is it?" Harry asked, startled and bleary-eyed, "Have you found something?"

"Yes, my father. He's taking me to her. Voldemort wants me for something. I'm not sure how this is going to play out, but if I can at least get to Ginny, there's a chance I can get her out." Harry's focus came back to him as he reached over to the pillow next to his head where his glasses were resting. Replacing them, he saw Draco, standing over him, lines of concentration and seriousness etched on his face in the low light of the room. He was shrouded in a traveling cloak. Harry's mind took even longer to catch up, but Draco didn't wait for that. "I want you to promise me something," he added in a hassled voice. 

"Huh?" was Harry's less than articulate reply. 

Draco shook his head as if he were proceeding with this conversation against his better judgment. 

"Look after Lucy for me," he continued unsteadily. It made him very uneasy to be entrusting his sister, his only family to his enemy. But, as fate would have it, Harry Potter was virtually the only person he could trust at the moment. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Potter would keep an eye on her if he'd asked.  

"Why?" Harry asked, startled by the charge. 

"I don't want her involved in this and my father has just asked about her. I know its not out of concern, he's planning something." He'd seen how Harry looked at her and it was a look that assured him that he wouldn't let anything happen to her. He was clenching his jaw at the thought, as if it was the most difficult thing he'd ever experienced, placing Lucy's safety in his hands. 

"How will you—," Harry began, but Draco stopped him. 

"My father is still in the house. I have no time to explain. I'll be in contact if at all possible. You, Granger and Weasley keep looking for the other heir on this end. And keep an eye on Lucy. I don't like what all of this adds up to."

Draco swept out of the room before Harry had even swung his feet to the floor. Harry reached for the door that he'd just shut and came out into the hallway. Draco had already disappeared leaving Harry alone in the cold stone passage with a million questions kicking around in his painfully fuzzy mind.  


	16. Ravenclaw's Chosen Heir

Disclaimer: I own the plot and a few characters at best. Rowling is the real genius here. 

Author's Note: Well, this is where the sh*t officially hits the fan. I hope you're liking this. Drop me a review if you are. If you're not, well stop reading then! \

Oliverwoodsgirl, I dedicate this chapter to you for reasons that will become apparent as you read. Thank you for your review. 

Hibiscus, thank you for your faithful reviews. I appreciate what you had to say about Lucy. She is my favorite. 

Brown-sugar, I tired as hard as I could to get this out ASAP. Enjoy.

Chapter Sixteen

Ravenclaw's Chosen Heir

_"I am no superman_

_I have no answers for you_

_I am no hero, oh that's for sure_

_But I do know one thing_

_Is where you are is where I belong_

_I do know where you go _

_I where I want to be_

_Where are you going?_

_Where do you go?_

_Are you looking for answers _

_To questions under the stars?_

_If along the way you are growing weary_

_You can rest with me until a brighter day_

_It's okay…"_

_Dave Matthews Band: 'Where are you going?'_

                Harry stood there, staring down the dark hall where Malfoy had just vanished. It was out of Harry's hands. They would all have to rely on Malfoy to keep his word. He wondered if the price they would pay for being blindly trusting where their gut told them to be suspicious would cost his dear friend, Ginny's, life. But then again, he reasoned, Malfoy had made a trade off of sorts. He'd trusted Harry with his little sister's safety just as they would have to trust him with Ginny's. 

                "Harry!" Hermione's voice sounded at the end of the hall. He thought he was either hearing things or going crazy. He heard her footfalls as she approached and then it dawned on him and he rolled his eyes. "Lucius Malfoy was here and Draco's gone with him, I think he's might be betraying us."

                "No he isn't," Harry countered, reaching around in space, finally feeling something solid, Hermione's head, he pulled the invisibly cloak off of her. "What is it with you and stealing my things all of a sudden?"

                "Oh, right," Hermione said as she realized she'd still had the cloak on. "It's lucky, really, that you left it in the library or they would have walked in on me. I can't believe that you left me in there."

                "I was tired," Harry said in his defense. "What did you want me to do, drag you all the way to your room?"

                "At least wake me up. Well, we're off topic now. As I was saying, I overheard them talking, Malfoy and his father. He said he didn't care what happened to Ginny. He's not who we thought he was," Hermione continued hysterically. 

                "It seems to me you're trying to find a conspiracy to support exactly what you think he is," Lucy said in a less than surprised voice from behind Hermione, Harry hadn't seen or heard her coming. "You were never going to give him a chance, were you? No one ever does, you've just got everyone bloody pinned down and stigmatized don't you? You're not as clever as everyone takes you for," she finished with a hurt shake of the head and turned back the way she'd come. "I'll be in the library if you need me, which you won't because I am just as guilty by association and you don't trust me either, I suppose."

                Hermione stared after her with a stunned and humbled look. 

                Harry shook his head and followed after Lucy. He would talk Hermione out of her suspicions another time.  

***

                Hermione did regret that Lucy had heard everything, but she stuck by her opinion. Everything was hopelessly messed up. They were playing a waiting game in which they were supposed to sit and twiddle their thumbs and hope Malfoy would make good on the promise to bring Ginny back safely. 

                She didn't like relinquishing control of even the smallest of situations, especially to someone she'd never liked to begin with. She couldn't imagine why Malfoy had all of a sudden grown morals and had become a decent human being. She'd always known him, book ended by his two horrid thugs, trying to get Hagrid fired, being absolutely awful to everyone, speaking ill of Cedric Diggory, not even a week after he'd been murdered. The Draco Malfoy she'd known prior to this had no heart, he was evil, like his father. What he'd become in recent months, Hermione couldn't guess. He still seemed as stubborn and arrogant as always, but disillusioned too, a little wiser of the world and less likely to bother with the petty conflicts with herself, Harry and Ron that he'd previously seemed to live for. 

                He was easier to figure out and anticipate when he was like that. She couldn't imagine what might have changed him. 

                She shook her head. 

                Opening the heavy oak door and looking into the lowly lit room down the hall from Harry's, she sighed and entered. She'd made a mess of things, she would admit it, but she was too exhausted to do anything about that now. 

                Ron was lying spread out over the bed and she asked him softly to move to one side. He groaned and shooed her away like a pathetic wretch with a hangover. She shook her head and gave him a shove, creating enough space for herself. No covers, though, he was rolled up in them. 

                She lay there on her side, her head cradled on her arm. Ron had all the bloody pillows, but she didn't care. She kept replaying the moment in her mind when Harry had given her that cold, questioning look before running off after Lucy. She was frightened for Ginny, but that was no excuse for her to treat everyone else like they didn't matter. That's what he would have said, if he'd found the words. He looked too shocked to voice his disapproval. 

                She sniffed slightly, hoping that she wouldn't lose control over herself and start crying. Stress and anxiety got the better of her and she cried quietly for several minutes before she felt Ron's comforting arms wrap around her. He kissed her lightly on the cheek before sinking back into a deep sleep that Hermione was envious of. But it was relaxing just to lie here, even if sleep was impossible. 

***

                Frantic for news on his friends' whereabouts, Sirius crashed through the doors of the office casting about desperately for Corbin. 

                Squirrelly and sometimes annoying, there was one thing that could be said for him: he was dependable. That's why he'd been asked specifically by Dumbledore to serve as reception and dispatch for their little outfit. A meticulous and hardworking student from his same year in school, Corbin had sometimes been at the receiving end of the pranks he, James, Remus and Peter had played. He was a Hufflepuff and an easy target, Sirius reasoned. But Corbin had gotten over that; it was after all, twenty years ago. 

                But where was Corbin now? 

                It wasn't uncommon for other members of the team to be out of the office and in the field on random assignments, but Corbin could always be found at his desk. 

                The only thing at his desk now was a note. 

                Sirius picked it up and scanned the neat handwriting quickly, his breath catching in his chest painfully and swore. 

                It said that the meeting with the giants had been a front for an ambush. Dumbledore and Hagrid had walked into it blindly, unaware of their danger. 

                At the bottom it said that Dumbledore was taken to St. Mungo's. 

                That had to be where Corbin was as well. 

                Sirius had been too late to stop it. 

                He threw the note down and rushed out of the door he'd just entered, heading for the hospital and praying that it wasn't as bad as it sounded. 

***

                Harry hadn't found Lucy in the library. She'd probably expected that someone would follow her and try excusing and apologizing the entire scene away. Harry knew she must be smarter than that. She hid, and in this house, that was easy enough.  

                He figured that he needed only search the first floor, as he doubted the place had an elevator. That narrowed things down a bit, but not by much. 

                Turning the corner in a lonely part of the house where he doubted there had been any inhabitants in quite sometime, he caught a stream of light coming from a partially opened door. 

                He carefully swung the door open a little further, creating enough space to admit him. He stepped inside and shut the door, the hinges quiet up until now, gave him away. 

                Lucy, sitting with her back to the door, turned when she heard the sound. She didn't look surprised at all. She looked anything but surprised—worried, hurt, frustrated, but not surprised. 

                "I'll go if you want me to. I was just checking to make sure you were all right," Harry said. Standing there, with her staring at him, he felt oddly exposed and self-conscious. On closer inspection, he saw tears in her eyes, her face darkened by a pitying frown. 

                "You talked to him before he left, right?" she asked in a trembling voice, "Did he say he would be back soon?" Harry unconsciously moved into the room and knelt beside her. Her lip began to tremble and a tear rolled down her cheek leaving a silver trail on her face. "This isn't going to end well. I know I shouldn't say that. But I don't think everyone is going to make it out of there safe. Did he say anything, leave me a message or anything?" She looked desperate. 

                It hurt to tell her that he didn't know what was going on. He wanted to tell her it would all turn out all right and that she had no need to worry, but he couldn't. He was worried too. He shook his head and she looked the other way, fingering the frame of a picture she'd held in her lap. Harry hadn't noticed that she was holding it the entire time.

                He recognized the subject of the photo immediately, her mother, Narcissa Malfoy. 

                "He's really good. Hermione's got him wrong," she said after a moment, as if she were talking to herself. "He's all I've got. And I trust him even if no one else does." 

                "I trust him, Lucy," Harry said, surprised to hear himself utter those words, but he meant them or he wouldn't have said it. 

                "What if he doesn't come back? What if Tom—," she began, and the tears began again as well. 

                "He'll come back, Lucy," Harry said confidently, taking one of her small hands in his, "and Ginny will as well," he held her gaze, her light blue eyes full of worry, but no longer doubt. He was surprised that he could see so much of a person's soul if he really took the time to look at them hard enough. She trusted him, he could see that. And, he realized, he would do anything to keep her safe with or without her brother asking him. 

                Reluctantly, he broke the connection, asking her if there was anything she needed before he left her alone. He had to get back to searching for the Ravenclaw heir. 

                He was afraid that he'd become so transparent to her that she'd seen what he was feeling every time she was in the same room with him. It was the last thing he wanted to be thinking about right now. She was Draco Malfoy's sister. He hadn't even known her all that long and still, he was getting the uncomfortable feeling that he was falling hard for her. 

                But now was not the time, perhaps there would never be a right time—and that's what Harry feared. He might never be able to love her the way she deserved to be loved. He'd had so little experience with the emotion himself. She was too high above him. 

***

                "A form of coma induced by a pretty suspicious curse. We can't trace its origins, or its nature. We suppose it to be a curse of the Dark Arts," the short, spectacled doctor was rattling off impersonally. 

                Sirius wanted to stop him with some well chosen sarcasm, but bit his tongue. 

                "It gets even more precarious when you add in his age," the doctor continued. 

                Holding up a hand to stop him, Sirius demanded, "What does all of that mean?"

                The doctor sighed, they never wanted to come right to the point. You would think they were paid by the hour. "It means, Mr. Black, that he may never wake up. His body is really too old to recover from the injuries he's sustained. Frankly, we're all surprised that he's made it this far."

                "Jesus!" Sirius breathed, staring past his reflection in the glass and into the room where Corbin sat next to his former Headmaster and mentor. He wished that there were a way that he could contact Arabella or even Snape for that matter. They would want to be here as well. But, as it often happened, when in the field, many agents were out of contact for weeks altogether. 

                "And Hagrid, Rubeus Hagrid? Was he brought in with Dumbledore? How is he?" Sirius asked, suddenly remembering the kind and gentle half-giant that had accompanied the Headmaster on this trip. 

                The infuriating doctor shook his head gravely, "I'm afraid there was nothing we could do for him," he said in an even graver, but rehearsed tone.  

                "Nothing you could do for him? Or nothing you would do for him?" Sirius asked in a measured but still accusatory tone. He knew the stigma surrounding Hagrid, tamest and kindest of people, but still alienated and mistreated. Remus had gotten the same treatment when people had become aware of the stigma placed on him. He shook his head. Jesus Christ, was there no one in this God forsaken place that wasn't under the sway of Voldemort and his wealthy supporters? 

                They just let him die. 

                Dumbledore would share his fate too, if he weren't too high profile to kill off as blatantly.

                He pushed roughly past the doctor and out of the large doors of the emergency room. He had to get out of here for a moment, if just for fresh air or because he'd had the urge to be sick all over the place, he wasn't certain. He just needed out. 

*** 

                Hermione turned up in the library a couple of hours later, followed by a bleary-eyed Ron. Hermione had apparently disturbed his sleep, Harry had guessed, looking up only briefly to see them enter, before going back to the manuscript that he'd been studying. 

                Rowena Ravenclaw looked back at him from the page he had been staring at for the past hour or so. She was wearing that same fleur-de-lis pendant that he'd seen her give to Maren in the Pensieve. But where was it now? That was surely the clue to finding this last party to the hypothetical downfall of the dark lord. The prophecy he'd heard Rowena reciting as she'd given the silver and sapphire charm over to her chosen heir had said specifically that this one person with the charm would lead the way. The way, Harry supposed, was the same way that would lead them to where Ginny had been taken. 

                "Where's Lucy?" Hermione moved over to the chair by the fire where Harry sat. 

                "She's around," Harry said a little bit colder than he'd meant to, he softened at the guilty look Hermione gave him, "Don't be so hard on Malfoy. I know this sounds strange beyond comparison coming from me, but I think he's trying hard to change. I know he can be trusted to do right by Ginny," he explained. 

                "How are you so sure?" Hermione asked, not wanting an argument, just enough evidence to support his claim. 

                "He asked me to take care of Lucy, make sure she's not involved in any of this. That means two things: He plans on it being difficult to get Ginny out, but he's going to try regardless, and it means that he trusts me with his family and so I trust him with mine," Harry answered simply. 

                Hermione nodded. It was answer enough for her. 

                "D'you need some rest? I could take over here, if you want?" Hermione offered. 

                Harry accepted readily. He was still feeling the effects of Apparation lag and he was eager to check on Lucy. She wasn't taking all of this worry well. She had looked as if she were straining under the pressure of it all, when he'd left her last. 

                He got up and handed the stack of manuscripts to Hermione and left the library, heading down the deserted hall on the far north side of the house. 

***

                He pushed the heavy oak door open and looked around for Lucy. He saw her chair by the sofa, but it was empty and he felt panic rise in him when he didn't see her there. 

                His fear was stayed as he came around the other side of the sofa and saw her sleeping, her face lighted serenely by the dying fire. One final tear trailed down her cheek and onto the cushion that her head rested on. Harry knew if she'd woken up just then she would have lectured him on how rude it was to stare, but he hoped he could stare at her a little longer, even if it was rude. 

                She had the appearance of a perfect angel. The sight of her was calming. He would give anything to feel half as peaceful as she looked at that moment. 

                While she slept there, he sat on the rug between her and the fire and tried to imagine what angels dreamt about. He hoped, for her sake, that it was a beautiful dream, a dream worthy of her. 

                He had no idea how long he'd sat there before he saw the picture that she still clung to. Her mother, in a garden. She was lovely, Harry noted, just like Lucy. Then he took a closer look and started when he saw the pendant, Ravenclaw's pendant. Narcissa Malfoy had had it. 

                He stood urgently and started for the door. Then, a voice at the back of his mind told him that it was careless to leave her here, by herself in this drafty room with the dying fire. 

                As carefully as he could, trying not to disturb her, he bent and lifted her small form off of the sofa and kicked the door shut behind him. 

                Halfway to her room, Harry felt her stir and lift her head from his shoulder. "Has Draco returned? Can I see him?" she asked, blinking to gain focus of her surroundings. 

                "No, he's hasn't come back yet," Harry answered softly, freeing one hand to turn the knob of her bedroom door. 

                She nodded and then her head fell back on his shoulder and she was out again. 

                He set her down and laid her head back gently on the pillow, his hand brushing her silky curls. 

                Harry leaned down and kissed her forehead, hoping she wouldn't wake again. It was a chance he was willing to take. 

                He would have sat there with her all night silently adoring her as she slept, had it not been for the urgent news he had to bring to Ron and Hermione. He wasn't sure what it meant that Narcissa had the pendant, but it certainly wasn't good news, he gathered. 

                He reluctantly left Lucy's side and shut the door behind him. 

                Walking quickly back to the library, Harry studied the picture he'd taken from Lucy's hands and scrutinized the necklace around her mother's neck, hoping in vain that it wasn't the same one. 

                He stopped where he was, just outside of the library doors when he'd heard a scream. It hadn't come from the library, but from the hallway he'd just left. "Lucy!" he gasped, his stomach flipped with the frightening realization. He dropped the picture frame that crashed to the ground and shattered. 

                Harry wasted little time in getting back to her room, Hermione and Ron close behind him. They must have heard it too. 

                He flung the door open with furious urgency. 

                Lucy was gone. 

                He rushed over to the bed where he'd just laid her moments before. 

                Only a silver chain, broken near the clasp, remained where Lucy had been. On the chain was the same fleur-de-lis pendant in silver and sapphire. 

                They had found the Ravenclaw heir in the same moment they'd lost her. 


	17. The Road To Nowhere

Disclaimer: I own Anni and Lucy, along with a few other, very minor characters. The plot is mine as well. But we have Rowling to thank for the basis of all I write about. You rock, Jo!

 Author's Note: Well, well, well. We now have all of the clues we need to proceed with this jolly good yarn. How will our heroes and heroines make it out of all of this mess they've landed in? Well, that's the point of the story and you'll just have to keep reading to find that out. 

Thank You's: 

Kim The Manipaltive Little Mo: Nope it wasn't Draco. But he's definitely not out of the picture yet. 

Oliverwoodsgirl: As always you rock! Your reviews light up my day! I hope you like this next chapter. 

Nightingale: Thank you for your review. I hope I don't disappoint. 

Hibiscus: Thank you for being so faithful in your reviews. I am so sorry about Hagrid and all. I hope you still keep reading, though. And, of course, if you ask for it I will jump to make you happy… more Snape and Arabella, coming right up.  

Chapter Seventeen 

The Road To Nowhere

_"Write your soul down word for word_

_See whose your friend _

_And who is kind _

_It's almost like a disease_

_I know soon you will be_

_Over the lies, you'll be strong _

_You'll be rich in love and you will carry on_

_But no—Oh no_

_No you won't be mine…"_

_Matchbox Twenty: 'You Won't Be Mine'_

                "I don't understand what is so important in there," Severus began. 

                Arabella turned, stopping in front of the loculus that they had previously investigated.

                "It could be nothing to do with Slytherin. Pettigrew has always been one to do odd things without the slightest bit of reason," he continued, brushing a spider's web from his robes disdainfully. 

                Arabella shook her head impatiently, "No, I'm sure of it. It's to do with the prophecy of the Founders. I'm positive on that point. They're planning something and it's not going to be good. Especially if they succeed. I mean to find out what they're planning," she stopped and leveled a determined stare at her companion, "and I mean to stop them."

                Severus threw up his hands in defeat. She would not be deterred from this. The growing suspicion that something unexpected and unpleasant was nearing made him cautious. But Arabella would not heed him. 

                She crawled up into the burial space and inched toward the back. 

                Severus stood to one side of the opening, staring warily at the small painted figure with the emerald eyes whose smile glinted menacingly as he pointed out the entrance of the Slytherin family tombs. 

                "Ah," Arabella's muffled voice filtered out into the small opening. She sounded excited. She'd found something, no doubt, and he would be expected to follow. He cringed at the idea. "It's here! I've found the opening!"

                He sighed and resigned his fate to the archeologically crazed Arabella and headed in after her, dried, human bones crunching underneath him, lending some lovely sound effects to the already nightmarish scene. 

***

                Ginny's head was throbbing painfully. Was it drug induced, she wondered? Had she tried to kill herself again? She couldn't remember. 

                She pushed herself up to her elbows and scanned the room. 

                She had no memory of this place, of the fire that was burning in the grate on the opposite side of the room, of the enormous bed that she now found herself in, or of the richly colorful tapestries that covered each of the stone walls. Where was she?

                She sat up fully, the drafty cold of the expansive room chilled her exposed shoulders and she shivered. It registered a moment later that she wasn't wearing her familiar T-shirt and pajama bottoms that she would normally wear to bed. Instead, she noticed with vague curiosity, that she was dressed in a white silk nightgown, sleeveless and low-cut. This wasn't hers. She would never wear anything this stunning, or quite so revealing, especially if all she planned to do in it was sleep. It seemed ridiculous to her that someone was wasting such a beautiful garment on her, inelegant, plain Ginny. 

                This must be some twisted dream. 

                She realized that it wasn't when she saw him. 

                She felt sick as she caught his gaze from the dark corner across the room where he'd been lurking the entire time, watching her. His smile unsettled her even more. It was a pleased, amused, satisfied smile. This was not a dream Ginny realized with mounting terror, this was her nightmare, a waking nightmare. 

                She hadn't faced this beautiful and yet terrifying man all alone in over five years. She felt as if she'd been thrust back in time to the very moment that she'd realized he'd tricked her, used her secrets, her soul against her. She was in the Chamber of Secrets, helpless, frightened. He was there with the same dominating presence and eerily calm smile that penetrated her and left her exposed.  She was facing Tom again and this time there was no way Harry would find her. No one would find her. 

                He came closer, leaving the shadows behind, approaching her slowly and gracefully. His hazel eyes, full of malice and ill will, never left her. 

                She moved back against the headboard and cowered there when she realized she had nowhere to go. She would have screamed if she could find her voice, or if she thought anyone would hear her. 

                He stood at the foot of the bed, eyeing her interestedly, arms folded in front of him. He loved to watch her squirm, Ginny realized with growing disgust and frustration. She endeavored to control her trembling shoulders and hide her fear as much as possible. She didn't want him the have the satisfaction. 

                "The nightgown looks stunning on you, Virginia," he said after a moment's reflection as he surveyed her, his voice as smooth as keys on a piano under a master's touch.    

                She gave an involuntary shudder that made him grin and his eyes glint slightly. In one swift movement, she'd pulled the covers up to her chin. "Where are my clothes," she growled, her voice trembling slightly, only adding to the pleasure Tom gleaned from his intimidation of her. 

                "I'm hurt, Virginia. You don't like my gift?" he said, laughing. He unfolded his arms and placed his hands delicately on the railing at the foot of the bed, leaning gracefully closer. "A reward for being such a good little girl. You were, I have to admit, quite impossible at the beginning, but you've broken in nicely. You've been most helpful in our search for the other heirs." He paused and stared as realization and horror dawned on Ginny. 

                She'd finally done it. She'd betrayed Harry and Lucy. 

                She fought the urge to be sick in front of him. Who knew with Tom? He might enjoy that just as well. She couldn't help the queasy, faint look that caused him to chuckle softly. 

                "It's your fate, darling. Get used to it. Those friends of yours are of little consequence to what I could offer you. You would be invincible by my side," he raised his eyebrows at the suggestion. 

                Ginny felt her stomach flip uncomfortably and her breath catch in her chest. "Why me?" Somehow, she already knew the answer. 

                "I knew a lady a lot like you once, beautiful, just as you are. Had a gift like yours too. You are very rare, did you know that? Seers in this day and age, you are one of only a few," he related these points and moved around to the side of the bed to stand over her. 

                "Who was she?" Ginny barely managed, cowering under her bed covers. 

                "Adelaide Connelly, she was a year under me at school. I believe you recognize the name?" he asked. 

                Ginny nodded, astonished and sickened still, "My grandmother," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. 

                Tom smiled and reached a hand up to touch her paling cheek. He bent and kissed her forehead before retreating. 

                Ginny stared after him in disbelief, unable to catch her breath or stop her trembling. She was more frightened then she'd ever been in her life. And she had no way out. She felt cold and numb and so ripped the covers from her bed, wrapping them around her and came to sit on the hard stone floor in front of the fire. Her head was spinning with every bit of information that she'd just been told. 

                She had a choice. She would either have to give in to Tom or die. 

                She stared into the flames and sobbed softly. She didn't want to die. 

                But it was the only choice, really.     

***

                Harry heard Hermione gasp behind him as she'd gained entrance into the room, only to find what Harry had discovered seconds before. Ron came in behind the two of them and asked what was going on. Neither he nor Hermione could answer. 

                They both stood there, mesmerized by the charm that lay on the pillow. The one they'd been searching for the entire time. 

                Harry was delirious with the idea that Lucy could be in trouble. It was all his fault. He felt detached from the whole scene, as if he was looking down on the entire affair form somewhere wholly separate. This couldn't be happening. 

                If Lucy were hurt at all, he would be entirely to blame. He should have never left her alone. 

                Harry reached a hand down and reluctantly touched the sapphire encrusted charm. He felt an unsettling tug from behind his navel and dropped the charm immediately. 

                Hermione had seen his reaction and immediately knew what it was all about. 

                "Grab your traveling cloaks, boys," She said, taking up the charm by its severed chain, "we're going after her."

                "Harry? Are you alright?" Ron asked, taking a tentative step toward him. 

                He shook his head. He didn't suppose he was okay at all. He felt sick at the realization that he'd been careless with regard to Lucy. That, and he didn't much enjoy Portkeys after the Tri-Wizard Tournament and all. He banished his own fear. It was selfish to think of that now. He would do anything to get Lucy back, including walking blindly into danger by means of a Portkey. He would do it for her, if nothing else. 

                ***

                He stepped out of the confined tunnel into a vast open space. Ornately detailed frescos lined the walls where the heirs of Slyhterin had been laid to rest. 

                Arabella walked to the center of the chamber where he saw her stare up at the lofty ceiling with awe. She was in her element. She became excited that she'd finally found what she was looking for. She ran from wall to wall, reading the paintings there, following them as one would follow a story. 

                Severus stayed to the interior of the room, keeping clear of the disgusting walls, some of which dripped with mold. 

                "That's it!" she said, clapping her hands together. 

                He made his way over to where she was scanning a fresco whose subject was no doubt Slytherin's own execution, after murdering the other three Founders, as the story traditionally went. The folklore surrounding Slytherin was always sketchy at best. He remembered hearing about some of the details concerning the leading theory on the events, when he'd been inside that close-knit group, loyal to his last remaining heir. 

                As legend had it, just before he died, Slytherin cursed the Founders and their blood, just after he'd made some sort of assurance to his last remaining heir that immortality could be achieved through them. This is where the much-debated Alliance of the Chosen Three came into being. Of course, to historians, this was labeled as the most fantastic of fictitious fables. It had been dismissed again and again. 

                Arabella had found the proof that they had all been searching out for centuries. 

                It all existed, the Alliance, the prophecy of the Last Heir of Slytherin, all of it. 

                And the wizarding world was in more trouble than they could have guessed. 

                "He's taken the cup," Arabella gasped, wiping some slime from a panel near the entrance. "Peter has taken Slytherin's Pensieve. It says here that it was to be buried with his daughter Eowyn, but it's gone. It must house the directions Voldemort needs to achieve his bloody immortality. Oh hell! This is a lion in the cattle pen."

                Severus hardly heard her. He walked slowly to the entrance, fighting the urge to curse. 

                The entrance was closed up. They had been buried in Slytherin's tomb and no one else knew they were here. 

***

                "You weren't truly thinking about perusing a relationship with that girl, were you?" Lucius asked his son as he ushered him into one of the lofty rooms of the castle keep. 

                Taking a seat in a large, oxblood leather chair, Draco gave the question a moment's thought, "What do you mean by perusing a relationship?" He asked vaguely. He heard the clank of a decanter behind him. Lucius was pouring a drink. 

                "I mean that you shouldn't waste your time with such a disgustingly low born wretch like that Weasley. It is quite well and good if she's just a pastime. I don't see how that could interfere," he came around to the other side of the chair where Draco was seated. 

                Draco eyed the man who seated himself across from him and sipped his port, eyeing his son with a warning look. He would be taken seriously. Draco could not brush him off. Some world-class acting was called for. He would make his father believe that he was following his example to a tee. 

                In fact, he thought, where was that dark and dangerous mistress of his father's anyway? A temptress if he'd ever seen one, Elena Vassikin, a Russian Death Eater who was brutally cunning and even more seductive. He was hardly without her since his wife had tragically died a year and a half ago. 

He couldn't really be his father. Not even if he tried. He had too much of his mother in him. And he would never treat Ginny the way his father was suggesting. But to appease the man, he would make it seem that he was only interested in her out of boredom, "As I said before, she means nothing to me. More of an attempt to provoke her brother than anything else," he shrugged, his face a passive mask of unconcern, but underneath it all he was raging at his father and his cruel tendencies. Ginny was no plaything, merely existing to amuse him until he was finished with her and discarded her for a more interesting toy. He adored her. That came as a clear realization as he voiced exactly the opposite feelings to his father. 

It was painful to think of what she was going through as he sat here and talked casually with his father about her. He hoped that she was safe, wherever she was. He wanted nothing more than to see her, hold her. He missed her so much that it was an actual, physical pain. 

"Well," Lucius sighed, uncrossing his legs and reaching in his pocket to retrieve something, "you might as well have some fun with her while you can." He produced a large brass key and tossed it at Draco, who snatched it from the air in one deft movement. "She dies at dawn if she hasn't accepted the invitation of the Dark Lord."

At that moment, Tom entered and smiled at his new visitor. "Draco Malfoy. It has been a while since I've seen you. You are looking more like your father all the time." If that was a compliment, Draco didn't take it as such. Turning to Lucius, he continued, "I thank you for bringing him. I would like very much if he were present for the immortality ceremony."

Draco got the impression that there was more to his being invited here than either of them was admitting, but he had no time to pry now. 

"I wonder if I might have a word with your father in private, Draco," Tom asked. Draco nodded and then returned his father's suggestive smile before leaving the room. 

If he had any pretensions that that was just a father-son bonding moment in there, Lucius Malfoy would be sadly mistaken. Draco would have liked nothing better than to have had enough time to strangle the life out of his dear old man. He was one of the most deranged, sick bastards he'd even been in contact with. And being a Malfoy…that was saying a lot. 

He clutched the key to Ginny's room in one very white knuckled grip and set himself to the task of finding the lock it belonged to. 

***

Bundled in cloaks that Hermione had found for them in the entryway closet, Harry stood in the midst of a fog bank with his two friends. The low-lying clouds swirled and churned and generally hindered them from gaining a view of their surroundings. 

Pinned securely near the clasp of his cloak, Harry wore the fibula that Gryffindor had entrusted to his faithful squire, Faramir all of those long years ago. Underneath the heavy fabric folds that protected him from the light and chilly mist that never seemed to completely fall, but churn around them, Harry had concealed the sword of Gryffindor, tucked securely in his belt. He had hoped that there would be no need of them, but he knew that it would not be that simple to have all of his friends, everyone he loved, out of danger without a fight. He wasn't sure if he was even equal to the task set in front of him, but he had to try. He could do nothing less than that. 

He didn't waste anytime waiting for the fog to roll out of their path. He plunged ahead, unseeing. He needed to get to Lucy. It was the one thought in his mind. 

Hermione followed a little more wary, Ron's hand in hers. 

As they passed the fog bank they found the eeriest gray road that wound down to nothing. It was a literal road to nowhere in particular. Harry noted it with mild agitation and proceeded. 

The secrets of this avenue revealed themselves as he carried on. First the lake appeared—like a mirage disappears when one approaches, the lake materialized in the same way. A little farther down the way, as if by magic (and in all possibilities, it was magic), a bridge appeared to link the road to a dominating castle. A crannog—a Medieval island fortress in the middle of a lake. 

Unfazed, Harry reached the bridge and began to step onto it. 

Ron pulled him back, causing him to stumble slightly. 

"I'll check it out first," he said. Hermione nodded. 

Ron brandished his wand and placed a tentative foot forward. It seemed to hold. 

The three of them proceeded cautiously across and to the stone keep straight ahead. 

***

"Er, Arabella?" Severus said hesitating, unsure he believed what he was seeing himself. 

"What?" she snapped, furious that he was interrupting her concentration when she'd made the biggest historical find the wizarding community had witnessed in centuries. Sifting through the dusty bones that had belonged to Slytherin's precious daughter and protégé, Eowyn, Arabella did not look up. 

"This is the way we came, right?" he asked in the same disbelieving tone. 

"Yes, of course," she answered with impatience, briefly glancing at the tunnel that was blocked up now with stone. "Oh, hell!" she exclaimed, doing a comic double take—only their situation was less than comical. 

She rushed over and frantically began pushing on the stone, beating on it with her fists, using magic. Nothing worked. They were good and trapped.

She turned and looked at Severus, astonished at her own carelessness. She hadn't checked for any curses on the entryway. She was so eager to make the discovery of Slytherin's tomb, that her judgment had been hindered. They would both suffer because of it. 

***

Ginny knew crying wouldn't help her situation any. She couldn't help the frightened sobs that racked her now. She was desperate for a friendly face, an assurance that she would see the people she loved again. She doubted she ever would. 

She missed Draco terribly. She knew he would get to her if at all possible. Ginny stared at the fire as it roared in the grate and prayed that he had figured out a way to find her. 

She jumped when the sound of a key in the lock of her door startled her. She hugged her knees tight in front of her and pulled the blankets up around her shoulders. 

This would be it. They've come to take her away. It was her moment to die. Her thoughts went automatically to her family and, of course, to Draco. 

The door opened and, to her great relief, surprise and every other emotion that liberated her from her frightened position, cowering in the corner, Draco appeared. 

A sob rose up in her chest and she cried out, overjoyed to see him. 

He hadn't seen her in that moment. He looked in her direction, on the ground at the opposite wall, only when she'd cried out to him, pushing herself up off of the floor, discarding the blankets she'd been wrapped in and rushed over to him. Tears streamed down her face as he hurriedly shut the door and took her up in his arms. Her chest was constricted painfully as he held her so tight she couldn't breath. 

He was so relieved to see that she wasn't hurt. She looked very shaken and scared out of her mind. But he was also overcome with the urge to be near her, he wanted to hold her like this forever. He buried his face in her masses of red hair and closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. He was home in her arms. She was everything to him, he realized caressing her cheek with his. 

"I thought it was him again," Ginny sobbed, relieved to see him here, to be held by him. 

"Who?" He asked, reluctantly pulling his head off of her shoulder to look at her. He reached a hand up to wipe the tears from her cheeks, never letting go of her the entire time. 

"Tom, Voldemort, I don't know," she began hysterically. "He, he… I don't know how long he'd been there, but I don't remember what happened up until I woke up, about twenty minutes ago."

"Ginny," Draco stopped her, "You're not making any sense. Calm down and tell me everything you remember from the beginning," he lifted her chin gently so that her eyes met his, "No one is going to hurt you while I'm here, I mean that. You don't have to be afraid." He led her to the bed where he wrapped his cloak around her trembling shoulders, noting her strange and very revealing clothing briefly. 

"Sit down and start from the beginning," he insisted, never breaking his connection with her, he stood beside her and held her hand in both of his as she related everything that she could remember from the time of her abduction until he'd shown up. 

She began crying and shaking uncontrollably again when she'd gotten to the part where she'd betrayed the other heirs. He didn't seem to get how important it was that they not be brought to this place. They would be killed just as she would. He reassured her that Harry was safe, but he said nothing of the Ravenclaw heir. He hadn't known that it was his sister. She didn't know how to tell him. 

He would surely hate her if his sister were harmed in any way at all. 

Maybe they hadn't gotten to her or Harry yet. 

Draco had just seen them safe at his home. Maybe they were still there warm and unharmed. 


	18. No Reason To Hide

Disclaimer: As always, I am guilty of maming, mutilating and mistreating Rowling's characters and places. But, I am not profiting financially from it (however psychologically… Well, let's jut leave that alone, shall we?) so everything is okay, right?

Author's Note: Well, someone's finally found Ginny, but all is not well and good yet. We've still got Draco and Ginny trapped inside of this crannog somewhere in Ireland; Harry, Ron and Hermione on the outside trying to get in and Lucy…oh yeah! Where is that darn girl?

Thank You's: 

Hibiscus: thanks for the heads up. I'm not sure which usage I meant. It was funny nonetheless. But I see it the way you do. Too lazy to fix it though. 

Oliverwoodsgirl: You are too kind. Thanks for being such a dedicated reader. And thank you also for the dedication to me on your new story. It was very flattering and gratifying. 

()—whoever that was who recently reviewed my story, thanks so much. I am glad you took the time to read and drop a review. I am very glad that you like my characterizations of Draco and Ginny. 

Chapter Eighteen 

No Reason To Hide

_"To what do I owe this gift, my friend?_

_My life, my love, my soul?_

_I've been dancing with the devil way too long_

_And it's making me grow old_

_Making me grow old_

_Let's leave…oh let's get away_

_Run in fields of time_

_Where there's no reason to hide_

_No reason to hide…"_

_Creed: 'Hide'_

                The fog had subsided slightly, allowing for a clear vantage of the island fortress from the light of the full moon. Carefully making their way across the bridge, Harry, Ron and Hermione had decided to keep their wands stowed, as they would attract too much attention if they used them to light their way. The moon was doing a decent job all on its own, besides. 

Hermione had overtaken both Ron and Harry as they walked along the bridge that connected the lakeshore to the keep. She was leading the way now, becoming more surefooted and confident with each step. 

                Harry was mildly concerned with how easy it had been to walk right up to the castle undetected. He was wary of the fact that it looked like a trap. Or, possibly, Voldemort had been just that stupid. Harry had seen him fail enough on account of his own miscalculations not to rule out this factor. 

                He knew someone must have noted their approach. 

                Ron rushed up to Hermione who had taken another step closer and was at the enormous wooden doors of the complex. She'd taken one of the massive rings that served as a means of opening the solid barriers to the entrance in her hands. She was studying it briefly until Ron's hand on her shoulder pulled her back roughly, startling her enough to make her choke back a scream of surprise. She clapped one hand over her mouth before taking a calming breath and glaring venomously at Ron. 

                "What was that for?" She whispered, clasping a hand over her rapidly pounding heart, "You nearly made me scream."

                "I thought you were just going to walk up to the doors and invite yourself in," Ron answered in his defense. 

                "Of course I wouldn't be that stupid, Ron. I was checking to see if these iron rings would hold my weight. I want to get to that window up there," she said, indicating an opening about fifteen feet up. "We need to see what things look like from the inside, see how many they've got guarding this place. If there's only one or two at this door then I say we can take them. If there's more, then I say we look for another way in." She quietly examined the iron rings, this time without interruption.  "I think I can do this, I just need a lift up, to get my foot into that ring there."

                Ron nodded and lowered himself to where his knee was just the right height that Hermione could step from it and into the ring easily. 

                She smiled in thanks and put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, putting all of her weight on his one knee momentarily before placing the other in the iron ring of the door. She faltered slightly as she lost her balance, but Ron, as an extension of reflex, had reached up and caught her by the back of her knee and took her other hand in his to steady her before giving all of her weight to the metal hardware of the door. He never let go of her leg, but left her hands free to hold onto the small frame around the high window. She barely reached far enough to see down into the entryway. Ron kept a hand up to spot her as she moved to get the better vantage point. 

                "Hm," she said in a leery tone. It didn't sound good to Ron on the ground. Harry wasn't even listening. He was looking up into the top row of windows, occupied with something. 

                "Hm, what?" Ron asked, looking curiously at Harry. 

                "There's no one there," she said in a thoroughly puzzled tone. 

                "No one? There's got to be someone watching the door," Ron pointed out incredulously. 

                "Could you just help me down, Ron? I know how to count to zero. There's no one watching the door," she quipped, turning awkwardly to argue with him from her perch on the door. 

                "Just jump. I'll catch you, I promise," Ron said in a warning tone, backing away from the door as if he would like nothing better than just to leave her there. 

                "Ron, you come back here and help me!" she whispered in a threatening tone, losing her foothold slightly and faltering. 

                Ron ceased with his amusement and hurried over immediately to help her down. 

                "Look at that!" she demanded of him when she was safely on the ground, "you made me bang my elbow." She whimpered. 

                "Don't expect me to feel sorry for you," Ron retorted, folding his arms in front of him and ignoring her whines and protests. "If you would stop being so bossy—," he began to reprimand Hermione but was interrupted by Harry. 

                "I just saw someone up there. In that window, just there," he pointed. "It could have been Ginny, but I'm not sure. Too far away," he said, taking another look, but no one was at the window that was backlit by a flickering fire now. "This is the place they've taken her. They must've taken Lucy here too. They'll be looking for me next," he added thoughtfully. He would rather that he'd been taken first—neither Ginny nor Lucy deserved this. 

*** 

                "We've got to find a way out of here," Draco said, looking out of the window as Ginny had finished recounting the events of the past twenty-four hours. He knew there was something that she wasn't telling him. He began to wonder what they'd done to her. She was shaking and wouldn't look at him. She was hiding, ashamed of something. He wanted to get her as far away from this place as possible, back home where she could be with her family. He didn't know what to do or what to say. 

                She'd returned to her spot on the floor in front of the fire where she was trembling and in a sort of oblivious trance state, as if trying to block something from her mind. 

He continued to stare down into the shimmering waters, moonlit and surrounding the castle they were trapped in. The only way they would be getting out of this place was by that bridge. He had crossed that bridge only hours before, but he did know that it was defended, even if its defenses weren't blatantly obvious. There were wards on it, for sure. The small contingent of Death Eaters that had been invited here for the immortality ceremony would surely be alerted if there were movements on that bridge. And they certainly couldn't swim that loch. Even in late August that water would freeze them through. Apparating was out of the question. There were certainly wards in place to prevent unwanted guests from gaining easy entrance, and leaving no avenue of escape for hostages. 

"Draco?" Ginny whimpered from her mass of blankets on the ground. 

He was at her side in an instant, crouching next to her, he placed a hand on the back of her head, the only thing that was not covered in the quilts she'd ripped from the bed. He stroked her soft hair and watched with quiet concern as a tear slid down her cheek and dropped from her chin. She'd been crying like that for a good twenty minutes now. Unblinkingly, she stared at the fire. 

"What is it, Ginny?" he asked, pulling her covers up closer to her chin. She was still shaking like a leaf in a late autumn wind. 

"I know who the Ravenclaw heir is," she choked out before she was wracked with another round of violent sobs. Draco rubbed her back comfortingly, encouraging her to go on. He listened to her, his gray eyes never leaving her bright brown ones, now red and washed with tears. "I've known since I was taken. I was drugged or knocked out or something," she shook her head as if to clear it and carried on, stumbling only a few times through the rest of her explanation. "Well, I had another vision."

So far, Draco couldn't see why she was so upset over that fact. She looked like she was hating herself pretty hard at the moment. She lurched forward as if she was going to be sick. Draco reflexively caught her, inches before her head hit the stone. 

"What did you see, Ginny?" Draco asked, prompting her. She was struggling hard with this, he didn't understand why. 

Ginny looked away from the fire and into Draco's eyes for the first time since they'd began this discussion. She hated that she was having him waste his concern on her. She dwelled in his attentions, thrived in his care and lived just to be near him. But she didn't deserve any of it. She was about to hurt him in a way she was positive he'd never felt pain before. She'd betrayed him. She thought it best to break away from him immediately. She wanted one last chance to lose herself in his beautiful, fathomless gray eyes and then she would end it all. This time, she really would. She'd reached the limit to how much she could endure. Hurting him pushed her past that point. It would finish her. 

She broke free from his grasp, from the warmth of the blankets she'd been hiding in. She tore his cloak from her neck. She didn't deserve this protection. She felt exposed, unguarded, naked. He was staring at her as if he were terrified of her and for her at the same moment. Whether it was the uncertainty in his gaze or the draft that blew hard from the open window, she wasn't sure. It chilled her to the very bone all the same. For an eternity of a second, realization dawned on him. He'd put it together. He knew who was in danger because she'd let their identity slip. 

"Lucy," he gasped, his stomach convulsed painfully. She was helpless and Harry was unaware of her immediate danger. And he was here, away from her. 

Ginny seemed to crumble and felt liberated all at the same moment. She let go of her fear of losing him. It was done. He was gone. And now it was her time to go. 

The time it took her to make it to the opposite wall and onto the ledge of the window was nothing at all and now she was standing on the precipice. It was so far down and yet not far at all. The wind whipped violently around the silk of her garments, grabbing her, claiming her for the darkness that waited to swallow her up. She put one foot out into space. All it took was just one more step and it would all be over. 

She never got there, though. 

Draco, rooted to the spot of his realization and horror, awoke to find Ginny on the edge, about to end it all—again. He was angry now. She wouldn't get out of this that easily. Did she always try to run? No wonder she'd had so many attempts under her belt. When things got tough, it was the easy way out. She wouldn't leave him this way. She wouldn't kill him twice. If his sister was dead, it would be all he could bear. She couldn't go too. He forbade it. 

He rushed over to the window. He hadn't much time to react, one foot was already out over the water, four or five stories below. 

Grabbing one arm roughly, he snatched her off of the window ledge just as she was about to let go. He wouldn't have let her jump. She couldn't get away that quickly from this mess. However innocently her part was played out, she had to help fix her mistakes. He wouldn't be left to do it alone. 

She ripped her arm from his grip. Tearstained and disbelieving, her face showed every sort of emotion as she blinkingly looked up to him, save gratitude and save hope. Shame clouded her once bright eyes that would never fully recover their luminescent brilliance after tonight. 

She cried out in frustration and collapsed to her knees. 

Draco regarded her pitiful state with pitiless eyes. All feeling was set aside. He was a facade of the calculatingly cool man he'd grown up admiring. He was strikingly like his father in that moment. 

"Put this on," he said, throwing his cloak on the floor next to her and walking toward the door, "We've got to find her. She'd be helpless against them," he snapped accusingly. 

Ginny got unsteadily to her feet, faltering only once before doing as she was instructed and followed after him.   

***

Lucy felt a dull pain at the back of her neck. She knew well enough not to make any sudden movements.  The first thing she did check, however, was her wrist. It was still there, the bracelet she'd picked up off of her nightstand in the instant after she'd seen her in the corner of her bedroom, by the wardrobe. 

She never wore it, but she was hardly ever without it, either—a security measure of sorts. She always kept it hidden in her robes at school, at home. She'd only had it on in certain instances. She couldn't think now why her automatic reaction had been to reach for it, even before calling for help. 

A loud crash caused her to jump slightly. A blinding rush of pain ran up her neck and she paused a second to allow the ache to dull before rolling onto her side to investigate. 

It was a shattering noise, fairly close to her. Shards of broken mirror had rained down on her. Sharp, large pieces clattered to the ground around her. She looked up to the fireplace where the frame that had housed the glass hung, small amounts of the reflective surface remained in tact. 

A man stood there glaring at the broken reflection, his tired eyes red with rage, pent up over an eternity of suffering. His silver hand clenched and unclenched methodically at his side. His other hand (apparently the one he'd used to attack the reflection) rested, bloody and mangled, on the mantle. 

She pushed herself into an upright position on her elbows and stared curiously at the man for an instant and then turned her attention to her surroundings. She recognized the man, but not the room. 

"Why'd you do that?" she asked finally. 

Without taking his eyes from the fragmented man in the frame, he answered her in pained tones, "I didn't like what I saw." He swallowed hard and pushed away from the fire to lean against the opposite wall. He regarded his charge with interest and pity. 

She stared back with concern. 

"So you've finally given in?" she asked, sitting up fully and engaging him. 

He furrowed his brow and glared at her. As if he could really hide behind that weak façade. She could see right through it. 

 "Given in to what?" he asked with mild agitation. 

"You've finally realized that this is not who you are, what you are," she answered simply. She knew everything about him. How he'd come to be in Voldemort's service. What he'd done. Every crime he'd committed. She'd done some digging. She always did that with the ones that interested her, the ones that had that look. He was used and finished with it all. This was his moment to give in or give up completely. She was thankful that it had come at a time when she was able to be there. 

It will probably be the last thing I do on this earth, she thought, frightening herself somewhat. Oh well, she reasoned. If she could help one last person, Peter was just as good as anyone. 

"And what is it that you think I am," he asked sarcastically. He was mocking her, but she put that aside. He was afraid, and he should be. 

"I know who you are," she said, "He's used you over and over. That's not you, Peter. You wouldn't have done it on your own."

He interrupted her impatiently. Something was stirring him from within. He wouldn't fight like this if it didn't ring true. "I can do anything," he spat, "you don't know what I can do. I could end you this instant. It would be easier than drowning a kitten," he laughed.

She blinked and continued, "What did you see that you didn't like?" 

"What?" he answered. 

"In the mirror. What did you see?" she said with fathomless patience. 

"What does it matter to you?" he spat, looking down on her in an attempt to intimidate her. It had little effect. 

She looked up at him and shrugged. "You think you're alone, that no one cares whether you live or die. You are redeemable, you know. You could still make it out. You could change that reflection," she said with a nod at the broken fragments on the floor. 

He snorted and turned his back on her. "What do you know about it? You won't even make it out of here alive, Miss Malfoy. You have no chance," he turned slowly to see if his words had the intended effect. She was stubbornly unmoved. "And neither will I," he added darkly. 

"So what if I don't make it out. I'm not afraid of dying, only dying without having convinced you of your own worth as a person." She stopped as he dropped slowly to the ground and stared at her, sitting near the door, on eye level with her. "Is it that you hate looking at the person he's made you?"

He nodded slowly. Apparently he thought it quite unsettling how this one handicapped little girl, without a prayer in hell to save herself from all of this, chose to spend her last few hours on this earth, convincing him that he could somehow make this mess right again. 

It was what he'd wanted for sometime now. He didn't dare to think it possible though. How could he alone stop what was surely going to put an end to life, taint it and kill it with dark magic? He wasn't even in control of his own mind. Voldemort was in control. There was no hope for him—he thought. 

Lucy was proving him wrong. 

It was shameful to cower in front of this amazingly strong-willed girl, morals that wouldn't shift and principles that never wavered. She had the graceful care of her mother, the gift of finding a need and then going to whatever lengths necessary in fulfilling it. He'd often watched in wonder at the elegant wife of the undeserving, vile Lucius Malfoy. She served the right cause. Quietly and confidently, she brought people back, corrupted and stained as they were under the Dark Lord's influence. She guided them to the other side, salvaged their lives, their souls. Lucy had that gift as well. 

"I can't. It's too late to stop it all. The last heir will be easy to find. Once they have him," he hesitated, breaking under the strain, shame, realization and denial—years spent decaying in the wretched dregs of humanity, never being completely human, nor entirely dead for so long now.  "I can't save you," he said desperately. 

She shook her head slowly, "And I can't save you, Peter. You have to do that yourself, and trust me to find my own way."

He looked doubtfully at her one last time before nodding and standing. He boldly opened the door and left the room. Lucy had hoped that he would finally do what was right, what he needed to do to make all of his wrongs a little less so. He could see heaven, this side of eternity, if he only thought himself worthy of it after so many years of thinking himself less than the lowliest of creatures. 

He was worthy of it, she was sure. 

***

"So what are we going to do?" Ron asked Hermione, staring at the mass of oak and iron blocking their entry. They were beginning to drip unpleasantly as the mist around the loch slowly escalated into an almost driving rain. 

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, whether to snap at him for his question or to propose an idea, he would never find out. The doors opened. 

Harry's attention was finally drawn from the window where he'd seen figures standing, three or four windows up. He, Ron and Hermione took a collective step back. 

The doors opening for them in invitation could only mean one thing—one very bad thing. 

They'd been expected. 

Immediately two figures in hooded cloaks stepped into the torrent and flanked the three soaked newcomers. 

Harry caught Ron's gesture and shook his head. He knew what Ron was suggesting: Take them. 

A bad idea—who knew how many more where waiting just inside? 

                No, it was the easiest way to get inside. They would just have to figure a way to get away from these two thugs once inside and find Malfoy and Ginny. Perhaps they knew where Lucy was as well. 

***

                "The girl talked. I increased the amount of serum, but the effects won't be with her for long. She'll be dead before they even begin to show. I suspect she's no more ready to join me than that crack pot old fool, Dumbledore." Tom had a far off look in his eye, speaking to his pseudo-protégé, Lucius Malfoy. He shook his head mournfully. "Pity, really. She would have been a grand edition. What I could do with her in my power. It's a shame really that free-will is attached to such a useful gift."

                "Do you suppose that is why there are so few seers in existence?" Lucius asked his Lord with a sly grin. "They don't seem to have a striking track record when it comes to faithful support of the Dark Arts."

                "No, her grandmother sure put up a fight in the end. I admired her spirit and determination.  Young Miss Weasley has that too. But let's not get carried away with sentiment." Tom smiled his cunning lopsided smile. 

                "What has she revealed, Lord?" Lucius asked, following Tom to the window where they watched the three, cloaked figures approaching the bridge. 

                "Interestingly enough, the Ravenclaw chosen one is none other than your daughter, Lucilla," Tom turned a darkly suspicious gaze on the man next to him. "I would like to think you knew nothing of this. Your previous treatment of the child would suggest that you care nothing for her. Would you hide her from me now? Cover up her part in this?"

                Lucius, coolly shook his head, "I knew nothing of her predetermined involvement. It's her mother's family that would have the connection there. If you would like for me to retrieve the child for you, Master, I would be happy—," he was silenced by an interruption in the form of a small blond woman, Cordillia Lestrange. 

                "Forgive the interruption, Lord. The last of the chosen is approaching the entrance," she stood in the doorway, military-like, all business. "We await your instruction."

                "Please, invite them in, Mr. Potter and his two faithful sidekicks. They can join in the festivities. Show them into the chamber off of the ceremony hall. I will be with them shortly, Cordillia," Tom answered cheerfully. 

                The woman gave a crisp bow and exited the room instantly. 

                Tom turned his attention to the Death Eater next to him again. "It won't be necessary that you retrieve the Ravenclaw heir. As you've heard from Ms. Lestrange, Mr. Potter is the last to arrive, leading to the conclusion that Lucilla is already here." He smiled again. 

                Lucius was expressionless. It was true. He cared nothing for the girl. His son's loyalty would be important when Voldemort's reign was ended. He planned to groom him as the heir of a new, more efficient Dark Order. 

                Whatever Voldemort's plan for the boy, they would never be realized. Voldemort's end comes at midnight. Plans were set in motion. 

                Things could get sketchy if the girl were involved, however. It was true. She'd never been loyal to him. A traitorous wretch like her mother, Lucilla was better off dead in his opinion. She had too much influence over Draco. His attachment to her was his greatest weakness, a weakness that needed to be removed. But, Lucius could not do it himself. Draco would turn from him altogether. Lucy must be disposed of in another way. 

                The other way sauntered into the room at that very moment. 

                Elena Vassikin smiled mischievously and winked a knowing wink at him when Tom had turned his back to watch the proceedings on the bridge. 

                "Lord, the girl is here. I had no problems in taking her. Easy task really. Her necklace has been planted and the other chosen one should be along shortly," she said moving toward the two men at the window. 

                Tom turned and smiled, "Perfect as always, my faithful assassin. Take a look out the window. The fruits of your flawless execution: Harry Potter arrives this very moment." He placed an adoring arm around the dark and dangerous looking woman—a black widow of human kind, and pointed out the approaching party already being flanked by the hooded guides and ushered into the fortress. 

                She grinned and looked on the scene with satisfaction. 

                "Shall we visit the girl?" Tom said after the scene beneath them had progressed inward and their vantage point failed. 

                The woman nodded and Lucius bowed his assent. Only so much more ass kissing and he would never have to take an order again. Tom/Voldemort proceeded unsuspecting. 

***

                Draco dodged the large grids of light the windows shed on the long corridors, keeping to the shadows. He had Ginny roughly by the wrist, and she followed silently and mechanically, tripping every once in a while. She seemed as if the effects of a slow acting drug were kicking in. She didn't seem to be registering much of what was going on. 

                They'd reached the first floor and still they were no closer to finding Lucy. 

                At the appearance of two hooded figures, Draco stopped and ducked into a nearby room, snapping Ginny's arm painfully backward and pulling her in behind him. She didn't cry out, though the pain had been intense, she didn't even cringe. She began to feel lightheaded, otherworldly. Pain didn't even register in her mind. She was numb to everything but the memory of the betrayed and hurt look Draco had given her only minutes ago. 

                Shoving Ginny back against the stone wall, crashing her into a low sconce of some kind, Draco took little notice. She'd obviously cared nothing for the well being of those she'd betrayed and so he wasted little concern with her. 

                He peered out from behind the door he and Ginny stood against. 

                The two Death Eaters ushered Granger, Potter and Weasley into the entryway. Water dripped from them and pooled under each figure as they stood in the doorway. 

                 Wands were confiscated from each of them as well as Potter's sword. 

                Draco shook his head. Leave it to Gryffindors to bust though the front door of danger. But, he reasoned, there was really no other way. This place was a marvel of efficiency. No way in and no way out, save one precarious bridge over freezing Irish waters. 

                Waiting for the group to proceed at a safe distance in front of him, Draco ducked back out into the hallway, dragging the lethargic Ginny behind him. He would follow them, and maybe all prisoners would be taken to the same general area, leading him to his sister in turn. 

                He noted carefully how many guards and other Death Eaters he'd seen in total. It couldn't hurt to get a general idea of how many he'd be dealing with to get them all out of there. 

                This seemed to be a pretty low-key operation, he'd noticed. Not many people had been invited to take part. The total number of black-cloaked figures in Voldemort's service only came to four. 

                Granger, Potter and Weasley were all flung into one room with one watch posted out front. The other headed off in the opposite direction. No one else seemed to inhabit this floor. 

                Draco would have to work up a plan quickly. Now he had four prisoners to liberate, one coked out prom queen dragging ass behind him and after all of that, they still had to find a way out. This hero shit was all overrated in his opinion. 

***

                Arm in arm with the Dark Lord, Elena proceeded with Tom ahead of Lucius to the first floor corridor where Lucy had been speaking with Peter moments ago. 

                The guard bowed his acknowledgement to his master and slid a key into the lock.

                Typical, Elena thought—paranoid to the point of using obsolete Muggle technique. She was a damned paralytic. How was the girl to escape, even if the door had been left wide open?

                She entered and eyed the wretch hungrily. 

                How often had she dreamt of murdering this nosy little girl?

                Now she was begging for the chance. 

                "Well, I'll leave you to it, Lucius," Tom said as he smiled at the girl who cowered on the ground of the meagerly furnished room. No fire was in the grate and the mirror that hung over the mantle was shattered where she lay. 

                "Is there any chance, my dear, that you would reconsider?" Tom asked gently, bending to the girl's level. 

                "Not unless you're willing to spare my brother," she answered with wide eyes. She knew that that would not be granted her and she would die. 

                "Not possible, dear," he said simply. One heartless kiss on her forehead and Tom had left Lucius to the task. Elena had begged to stay and watch. Tom was amused by her interest in the matter and granted that concession. 

                Lucius watched cautiously as the latch of the door fastened securely and then leveled a cold gaze on his child who was struggling to control her trembling shoulders. 

                "Father, don't give Draco over to him," she pleaded as he stood over her and listened amusedly. 

                "Hush, child," he commanded, "I don't plan to give him over to anyone. The Dark Lord will command none of us after tonight. I plan to have his power," he turned to share a meaningful glance with his mistress. 

                Lucy knew her well. 

                "But, you will die, as he wishes. I have no more tolerance for your interference. You have too much sway over your brother, but that all ends now. Goodbye, child," he said disinterestedly, moving toward the door. Turning to Elena he added, "I'll let you handle this, I must see to some other matters."

                She nodded with the pleased smile of a child getting their way. 

                Lucius left under the watch of both, disbelieving and regretful on the part of Lucy, full of deep admiration from Elena. 

                As he closed the door, Elena produced a knife and advanced slowly on the angelic child with bright eyes and silver ringlets, relishing the fact that in a few short steps she would be able end that personification of the good and the pure, wiping from her face the forgiveness she bestowed on her murderer even before the crime had been exacted. 

                Lucy inched painfully backward across the strewn glass shards from Peter's earlier fit of rage. Her hand caught the sharp edge of one piece, ripping the skin painfully. She whimpered softly as her hunter pursued her. 

                Elena, smiling with pleasure the entire time held the knife over the child, who cowered by the wall next to the fireplace. 

***

                With one violent rip, the edge tore through her skin, just under the ribs, puncturing a lung. Blood poured over the gray stone of the floor. Gasping, she fought for consciousness briefly before the world spun into blackness. 


	19. Drift In Dream

Disclaimer: Rowling owns most of these characters that I love to mess about with. I own Anni, Lucy and Imogen. I also own the plot and a few minor characters that show up every now and again, like Elena. No money was made from this story. Dumas owns a couple of phrases that will show up in this chapter. I ganked them from 'Count of Monte Cristo.' If you can pick them out, then you have mad skill and are forever my hero. 

Author's Note:  I decided to upload early, as I will be busy with final exams next week and will be unable to do it then. But I didn't want to leave my few faithful readers hanging. I really hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. PS. You get a cookie if you can pick out the spoof on a scene from 'The Three Amigos." 

Hibiscus: Thanks for the review. As always, your comments are exceedingly helpful. I'm not sure what you believe the ending of the last chapter to signify…I just hope I don't disappoint you. More Snape and Arabella in this chapter for you as well. 

Oliverwoodsgirl: Thanks for your encouragement. As I said to Hibiscus, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you or lead you the wrong way. Remember that it was written back in August. I had no idea that anyone would become attached to my originals. I am terribly sorry ahead of time if I disappoint. 

Tina: Thank you so much for your praise and dedication. That's pretty cool that you only took two days to read through both this story and its prequel. Keep reading. I appreciate your comments. 

Chapter Nineteen

Drift in Dream

_'Hush my love now don't you cry_

_Everything will be all right_

_Close your eyes and drift in dream _

_Rest in peaceful sleep_

_If there's one thing_

_I hope I showed you_

_Hope I showed you_

_Just give love to all_

_Oh, my love… in my arms tight_

_Everyday you give me life_

_As I drift off to your world _

_Will rest in peaceful sleep _

_I know there's one thing that you showed me_

_That you showed me_

_Just give love to all_

_Let's give love to all…'_

Creed: 'Lullaby' 

                The Headmaster did not know yet the fate of his companion. Hagrid had died of defensive wounds. It was clear to Sirius that he had held out until his last, protecting the man that had stuck by him through a pretty rough and adverse life, only to show his ultimate loyalty in dying for him. 

                Dumbledore was awake now and slowly becoming more responsive. 

                As the doctors wished, he would not learn what had become of his faithful Keeper of Keys and Grounds until he was strong enough to handle the news. 

                Sirius doubted that _he_ was even strong enough to learn what had become of the jovial half-giant. But, in performing the duties required of him, it fell on his shoulders to make the official identification of the body. 

                He now sat, haunted by the images, half collecting himself and half praying that another would not die tonight. 

                As the saying went: 'Life is a series of ups and downs.' Sirius wasn't sure if he would subscribe to that theory in its entirety. He knew about the downs. There were always downs. He wondered, sitting there counting time after time he'd felt this hopeless, confused, where the ups had gone? He'd had more hard times than he cared to remember. Counting them out, he was surprised at how numerous they had become in all of his thirty-eight years. 

                His spiral downward was interrupted by a flutter of wings as an owl alighted on the chair next to him, clicking its beak importantly. He looked over at it slowly. Damned the owl post! They had ways of tracking people down that Sirius was envious of. 

                He sighed and unfastened the letter from the owl's leg, allowing it to fly off on other deliveries. He hoped that it was business as usual. He needed a distraction right about now. 

                Opening it, his chest constricted painfully as he read the brief lines. 

                It was from Arthur Weasley. 

                Ginny had gone missing in France. 

                As if that wasn't alarming enough, it continued to relate the story of how they'd gone to Paris yesterday to sort out the matter and find their child. She was gone without the slightest trace. 

                Coming home to see to the others, Molly had found the Burrow turned over from top to bottom. Harry, Ron and Hermione were gone as well. 

                Siruis leapt from his seat, heart pounding. Not again, he couldn't deal with all of this again. He grabbed up his jacket, left a message with the nurse for Corbin, who'd gone to the cafeteria. 

***

                "Way to be discreet, Hermione," Ron said sarcastically, arms folded in front of him. He glared at her from his spot next to the door. "Just walk right up and knock. Nice plan."

                She glared back while fishing a hairpin from her tangled ponytail, but did not answer. 

                Harry was listening at the door. 

                "One's just left. I think the other stayed behind to watch our door," he said, lifting his ear from the oak, near its hinges. 

                Hermione nodded, straightening the pin. 

                Making his way over to where Ron had seated himself, Harry leaned against the wall and noted their accommodations. The room was bare all except for a fireplace with an ages old vase on the mantle, crumbling, dried flowers stood petrified in its confines. There was no fire, which was a disappointment as they were all three soaked to the skin. He dried his glasses as best he could on his wet sleeve and sat down beside Ron to await their impending execution. 

                Hermione, more motivated by their circumstances now that they were hopelessly trapped, tied her hair back as best she could to keep it from her eyes. She set herself to think. She always loved a challenge. 

***

                Draco craned around the door he stood behind once more to check the position of the guard. He saw the man, enormous and rock-like, slumped on a stool outside the prisoners' door. 

                He would start with that one, then work on the door. After that, they could all split up to more efficiently look for Lucy. 

                He noticed with a slight bit of irritation that Ginny had slid to the floor in the corner, crouched in a fetal position. Her face was becoming pale and beads of perspiration dotted her brow. She was hugging her arms around her to stop herself from shaking and stared off into the distance with an eerie look of someone near death. 

                He didn't bother to force her to her feet. She would be in the way as it was. He would leave her here and come back for her when he could. She was useless now, in her guilty state of shock. 

                He cast about the room, a massive hall, for something to use against the guard at the door. His eyes rested on a poker that leaned against a large hearth at the opposite end of the room. 

                He rushed toward it, picking it up and testing its weight. It would be perfect for the job. 

                He gave one last glance to Ginny in the corner before opening the door enough to pass through. But, he didn't get the chance to exit and knock the sleeping guard out. He'd heard voices approaching down the other end of the hall. 

                He stepped back behind the door and rested the iron poker on the toe of his shoes, careful to make no noise. Ginny gave a slight whimper, which made him start a bit before crouching impatiently to cover her mouth. She didn't even register the contact. A slight alarm passed through him as his fingertips brushed her cheek. She was feverish, her cheeks were white and she slumped as he cut off her air supply briefly. He checked her pulse, finding it irregularly fast. 

                The voices came closer and then passed the door to the other end of the hall. He recognized each of them, Tom, Elena and his father.

                Pulling his cloak tighter around the despondent Ginny, he got quickly to his feet and looked through the space where the hinges held the door to the wall. A crack there gave him the perfect vantage point. He watched, holding his breath as the three entered a room. 

                A moment later Tom appeared again in the hallway and with a smile proceeded to the stairs that he and Ginny had been on only moments ago. He ascended and then was gone. 

                His attention was brought back to the same door, three down from the one that held captive Granger, Potter and Weasley, and he marked his father's exit. Nervousness attempting to compose itself into calm indifference covered his features. 

                He gripped the edge of his weapon reflexively. 

                Now he waited for Elena to exit and then the coast would be clear and he would be free to move about in the hall. He noted something promising as well, the guard still remained asleep through all of this coming and going. It would be easy to take him by surprise. 

                His attention was brought back from the guard as the door slowly opened and Elena peeked her dark and elegant head out to check the hall. She was alone, it seemed. 

                Now he was able to move and he would have to do it quickly. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out of his father's company, but someone was bound to miss either him or Ginny sometime soon. 

                He bent down again and whispered for her to stay here while he freed the others. 

                She nodded and got unsteadily to her feet, holding onto the wall for support. 

                When he'd convinced himself that she would be fine for a few minutes on her own, he rounded the open door and stepped tentatively into the hall, noting with surprise that the guard had been knocked out and laid unconscious beside his stool. Ron and Hermione stood over him. 

***

                Tom walked to the fifth floor. It was time for her to decide which side she was going to join. 

                In one instant, he wanted the fiery and impudent girl on his side, under his influence. He'd had an interest in the girl ever since he'd first seen her soul, read her thoughts—since he'd almost killed her at the foot of Slytherin in the Chamber. 

                In the other instant, he was in the mood for blood. He wanted a refusal. He felt like making someone suffer just now. 

                She would prove useful in either case. 

                He opened the door to her room anticipating the fear that was always evident on her face when he'd had her cornered. But he was surprised and enraged when he found the room empty. 

***

                "We're all in trouble," Arabella stated simply, scanning the other wall of the tomb with her torch held high to shed more light on the scene. 

                "Please stop stating the obvious. Make a real point if you want but, for the love of God, please stop repeating yourself," Severus snapped, slumping against one of the disgusting walls. They'd been bickering back and forth for about an hour and a half. If they weren't getting out of here alive, he prayed that God would take pity on him and strike Arabella mute, or at least render him deaf. Either way he wouldn't have to listen to her ramble about Founder's, Chosen Ones and the end of the world. Maybe he could even die in relative peace. 

                "There's no way out of here. It's sealed with a curse so you might as well get used to me. You're going to die with me, after all," Arabella snapped, turning back to the fresco. It was Ravenclaw's castle, Muriadoch Keep on Loch Muriadoch in county Meath, the site of the famous execution of Salazar Slytherin.  Whatever was happening with that cup Peter had retrieved for Voldemort and Slytherin's prophecy, bid for immortality, it would all be happening right there in that fortress. 

                Severus closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. She wasn't going to shut up. 

                She continued to examine the walls hopelessly. She was the only one that knew of all of this and she could do nothing. "This was what Peter hoped would happen. He knew I would come looking for it…and he's trapped us here."

                "What did you expect would happen?" he asked through his hands. "You know Peter better than any of us. You must have known he would pull something like this."

                Arabella wheeled around sharply. "I did not!" She came to sit beside him and rested her elbows on her knees, giving him a momentary glance. "I still want to think that there are some of us that could help him in some way."

                Severus looked at her incredulously, dropping his hands. "And you wanted to be the one to save his soul?" he said, agitated. 

                "No," Arabella answered sharply, "I wanted to believe that he still…"

                Severus continued to glare at her, but the look had softened into uncharacteristic sympathy. Only a few people on the earth could induce that sort of pitying look from the tight-laced, stern man. "That he still gave a damn about you…at least."

                "Yes," she said weakly. 

                Arabella turned away.  

                Severus looked anywhere but at her. "Maybe his still does," he said quietly. Then finally, he offered, "But it doesn't really matter one way or another."

                Arabella stood and walked to the opposite wall under the pretense of examining a fresco there. She turned slightly to peek at her companion out of the corner of her eye. He wouldn't look at her. He was frowning, but studying the blocked entrance. 

                "Arabella?" she heard with mild agitation. Would he not even leave her in peace in the moments before she died? 

                "What?" she shot back impatiently. 

                "It's open again," he said in hollow amazement as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. 

                She turned around immediately, "It's not possible," she gasped as her breath constricted painfully at the excitement. She wouldn't dare to hope, but it was true. The entrance was free of its former barrier. 

"We need to get to Sirius and Dumbledore," she gasped, pulling the Potions Master behind her forcefully. 

                The entire crypt shook and began to crumble around them as they raced for the entrance, running full out to keep from being crushed as the ancient foundations began to give way. 

***

                "He's, he's snoring," Harry said, pressing his ear to the door, near the crack of the rusted hinges. 

                "Good, that'll be easy," Hermione said, brushing some bothersome strands from her eyes. "Here's the plan: I'm going to pick the lock. It's old so it shouldn't take that long to give out. Ron take that vase and when I open the door, as quietly as you can, smash it over his head," she was becoming wild with fervor. 

                Ron took a step back, away from the girl that was suggesting he render a man that outweighed him by at least two hundred pounds unconscious with a flower vase. "Lucy is probably on this floor as well. We'll sneak out and check the rooms on this side of the hall first. She looked to her two companions who nodded their understanding. 

                As she had said, Hermione wasted little time in maneuvering the lock before it gently clicked open. She slid the door ajar a crack, careful as to keep it silent on its hinges. Ron moved steadily to the door and out into the hall. He lifted the heavy vase over the head of the snoring hulk. He swung the makeshift weapon downward, but stopped just above the crown of the man's head who continued to snore. 

                Hermione tapped his arm lightly to which he mouthed, "Practice swing." 

                "Hurry," she mouthed back, eyeing him pointedly. 

                He repeated the motion again with the same effect. 

                Hermione, forgetting the need for quiet, scoffed loudly at Ron, startling the man awake. 

                He blinked and looked around, catching sight of the two of them. 

                In one deft movement Hermione took the vase from Ron and sent it crashing over the guard's head, laying him flat out. She jumped at her own violent daring. 

                Ron immediately took the rim of the vase (the rest lay fragmented around the unconscious guard) from Hermione's hand and, catching her around the waist to steady her as she began to sway precariously. 

                Harry joined them in the hall and admired her handiwork along with Ron briefly before Draco came out of the room across the way. 

                Hermione looked up to see him standing there, stunned. She began to take offense to their reactions, all three of them. A girl could kick a little ass when she needed to. 

                She was just about to voice her frustration when she saw Ginny, tear-sodden and pale emerge from the same room Malfoy had just left and moved quietly around the scene to stand in front of a room three doors down the hall to their left. She seemed to be the only one to notice her. The three boys were occupied with stashing the stiff. 

                They were all alerted to her presence, however as she let out a small sob and rushed into the room. Hermione started and the others emerged seconds later where they all rushed into the room Ginny had just entered. 

***

                Harry felt a nudge as Draco pushed past him and the others urgently throwing himself against the door of the room Ginny had just entered. 

                Harry approached slowly, behind the others knowing what he would find on the other side of that door. He thought he would be all right if he just suspended the reality of it all for a moment longer he could compose himself, guard his heart. She was gone. He knew it and didn't trust it at the same time. He would have to know for sure and so he made the unrealistically long trek a few feet to the door. 

                Taking it step by step, Harry noticed first, Hermione who had cowered at the doorframe, hands clasped over her mouth, she was shaking her head with disbelief. 

                Farther in, Ron had rushed over to Ginny who had collapsed halfway into the room. She looked as close to death as he'd seen her on two occasions already. Ron was bent over her and frantic. He examined a livid bruise that surrounded a pinhole laceration or two just above her elbow. Something had been injected there. 

                And beside the fire, amidst twinkling shards of broken mirror lay Lucy, lifeless in her brother's arms. Pooling under the girl's tiny frame, blood stained the stone floor and covered the knees of Draco's gray trousers as he kneeled beside her. A large wound slicing her left side was the cause for all of it. She had been stabbed and left to bleed to death. 

                They had killed her, helpless and unable to defend herself as it was, they had trapped her and murdered her, ripping her violently from the people she'd loved and the people who had loved her. 

                Harry sank to his knees beside Hermione in the doorway. He hadn't the energy to keep himself upright. Guilt weighed on him like so many waves, pushing him into the depths of despair. This was his fault. She trusted him and he let her down. How was it that he thought he'd deserved her? He couldn't even protect her. The angel that he'd silently and secretly adored for so many months had died because she trusted him. 

                He took his eyes from the pale face, the closed eyes, much like the last time he'd seen her. She had been sleeping peacefully. He realized that that was the last time he would ever hold her, that night already so long ago when he'd carried her to her bed. He was sick with the thought that the world wasn't right without her. How was he to live without her?

                He looked to Draco, shaking his head, refusing to believe it all, rocking her in his arms, fighting the realization that she was taken from him for good this time and wondered to see the large tears silently chase each other down his otherwise stern and immoveable features. 

                Harry watched as if far from the scene, feeling obtrusive. He didn't belong here. This angel had never loved him. She loved her brother. He felt like a disgusting voyeur, looking in on the intimate scene. Her head resting limply in the crook of his arm dropped forward slightly as he lifted her to him, hugging her close and then gently kissing her pale cheek, resting his forehead on hers, slowly shaking his head as if that were all the realization it took and he would wake up from this nightmare. She would be there, unhurt and happy, smiling at him. How silly it was that he'd dreamt she would leave him. He never thought it possible. 

***

                "How very touching," a cold voice cut through the silent gravity of the scene. Tom stood in the doorway, behind Hermione and Harry. 

                "Go to hell," Ron spat, lifting Ginny off the ground. She was blinking and coming back slowly to the present, but faltered slightly as she caught sight of Draco cradling a motionless Lucy. 

                Tom chuckled softly and shook his head, "The point is actually to surpass hell, young man."

                Lucius Malfoy, Elena Vassikin and two other individuals whom he'd never seen before pushed past Hermione, the deceptive Elena seizing hold of Harry as they entered the room.

                A tall man, sandy blond with the distinctive black hooded cloak of the Death Eaters grabbed Ron roughly by his arm, hauling it painfully behind his back. The other, a woman who was short and blond as well claimed Ginny as Ron put up a fuss at having been parted from her. 

                "Come now, Draco," Lucius said in a stern tone, attempting to tear him away from Lucy. He held her to him and glared at his father. 

                Tom moved into the room and gained control of the situation, "Do you hate him for taking her away from you, Draco?" his voice was soothing and placating, a serpent wielding a forbidden fruit. "Would you like to kill him for what he's done? She needn't have died. I only needed her to bring the other heir to me. Her job was fulfilled. She could have been spared."

                Draco looked up from his spot on the blood soaked ground, innocently listening to all he had to say. 

                Ginny silently struggled against the woman that held her, shaking her head. She knew he would be easily tempted. All he wanted was the opportunity to exact revenge on the cold-hearted man that had tormented Lucy for so long. 

                Draco gave it some thought. He held Lucy to him one last time, kissing her forehead. He laid her down on the stone floor and stood. 

                Tom motioned to the large guard that had previously been lying on the ground down the hall. The burly man came through the doors and stood next to a calm but mutinous Lucius Malfoy. 

                "Shall we?" Tom said brightly. The procession of prisoners marched to the Great Hall of the fortress where preparations for the immortality ceremony had already been set in place. Lucy was left on the stone floor of her prison and tomb, forgotten. 

                Three enormous pillars extended to the rafters of the timber-roofed structure, solid and stone. This is where Ginny and Harry were tied. Slumping with the effects of a powerful drug, Ginny's head lolled to one side, her eyes glazed over. 

                Harry was tied on the next pillar over, Elena seeing to it that he was held securely. 

                Ron and Hermione looked on the two helplessly, bound to an empty armor rack to one side of the hall. Calmly surveying the room, Hermione assumed that it was originally intended as an indoor tournament area. Perhaps certain sports like hand to hand and broadsword combat took place in here, before a feast or similar festivities. She scanned the opposite wall as the wheels turned in her head. She remained calm, running through various scenarios on how they could all escape from this. 

                A curious glint caught her eye at the other end, a red glint, like that of a jewel. It was the sword of Gryffindor, in a rack of various period broadswords and other weaponry of the middle ages. 

                Draco had been ushered into the room along with his father, under the supervision of the massive Death Eater thug. 

                Tom made a slow trip to the weapons rack on the opposite wall from Hermione, explaining all the while, how events would proceed with this ceremony. "This Pensieve, the very reliquary that houses the thoughts of the greatest dark lord to ever live, until myself, has told me the secrets to life everlasting. One more addition to this caldron," he continued instruction, indicating a golden cup on an altar in front of a fire and a simmering caldron in front of that, as if they were mere visual examples in a laboratory lecture, "and I will have achieved what no other before me has achieved. I will live as an immortal overlord to the communities, wizard and muggle alike, for an eternity." His eyes glinted hungrily at the thought. "But first, since it is you, Draco who will aide me in this final transformation, I will grant you the wish to fight your father. Traditional tournament rules apply," he picked up an inferior, plain-looking blade, heavy and powerful and tossed it to Lucius who caught it without expression. 

                Then, turning to Draco, he picked up Gryffindor's sword, beautifully worked and by far the grandest blade in the hall, he stared at it fondly before continuing. "This is the very blade that killed Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor. It is unbreakable and as strong as diamonds," Turning to Lucius, Tom laughed a moment and then added, "and I dare say it will be easy enough to defeat you with." He handed the blade reverently to Draco who took it. 

                Several things happened at once as Draco's hand met the hilt of that blade; Hermione had seen Harry slowly and methodically freeing himself from his weakly tied bonds, saw Elena take a knife from beneath her robes and reach silently around the massive Death Eater guard's neck and slice cleanly through his jugular. He tried to cry out, but it was useless, he could not make himself heard. She eased him silently to the ground without detection. And she saw the gleam of an idea as Draco noted this as well as their confiscated wands that lay on the table beside him. 

                Harry, hands free, moved them discreetly forward as he watched Draco and his father salute to begin their fight. Instead of striking, as Lucius did, Draco tossed the sword sideways to Harry who caught it. 

                Draco reached for his wand instead and ducked a blow from his father's furious sword at the same moment. 

                Tom saw all of this with rage. 

                Lucius continued to engage his son in a mixture of traditional dueling and wizarding methods, each ducking the other's advances and sending glancing blows in turn. Draco summoned another sword from the rack and held him off. 

                The other two Death Eaters present, Jean-Paul and Cordillia Lestrange, glanced at each other and retreated, leaving the torrent of confusion. They had no wish to repeat their sentence in Azkaban after their recent liberation. 

                Harry, taking heavy fire from Voldemort as Tom, shielded Ron and Hermione from his curses and hexes as he freed them, the fibula doing its part and working with the sword to keep him safe. 

                Lucius, always ready to show his son what loyalty meant, turned his sword on the despondent Ginny still tied and slumping against the pillar she was held to. Ginny held her breath but said nothing as the tip of Lucius' sword pierced her neck just slightly below her chin. 

                "Her life, for your loyalty, Draco," he said in a warning tone. His glare was as unrelenting as the sword's point. 

                Draco watched with a racing heart as a small stream of blood made its way from the metallic point to the low neckline of the white silk garment Ginny wore. It was a sacrifice that he would have to make. He dropped his sword with a clang at his feet and held both of his hands out—resigned to defeat. He watched a little easier as his father brought the sword away from Ginny's throat. 

                Lucius swung it almost instantly in a broad arc over Draco's head. Draco, for his part, anticipated this, ducked and swung again at his father's knee, bending to take his previously discarded weapon in hand again. 

                Ron rushed to untie Ginny whose wrists were beginning to strain and bend painfully as she was unable to hold herself up. The drugs in her system were working fast and her breathing was becoming slower. She fell into her brother's arms motionless and he handed her off to Hermione to keep safe while he hurried off to Harry's side. 

                Tom stuck close to his two treasures, his caldron—one vital ingredient shy of eternal life for the drinker, and his heritage—the Pensieve of his ancestor. Harry and Ron did all they could to sabotage his efforts. 

                Draco parried another devastating blow from his father, knocking him off balance a bit before righting himself. Lucius was advancing unmercifully on his son. Harry saw all of this in a slow moving sequence. He wouldn't be able to hold him off for much longer. Lucius was the superior swordsman and Draco was tiring. 

                "You are no fool, Draco. I raised you. You are just like me. These four here are no friends of yours. They turned your family over willingly. Lucilla is dead and they are to blame," Lucius reasoned as he continued to advance on Draco. "Voldemort is weak. Ally with me, we could be great, overthrow him. He's nearing his end now," Lucius added with a nod in Tom's direction as he was both fighting off the advances of Harry and Ron as well as shielding his precious guarantees of eternity. 

                Draco shook his head, narrowing his eyes on his father, "You killed her, Lucy's dead and it's your fault."

                Lucius scoffed setting his sword aside, leaning on it casually, "I killed no one, boy. Elena did it. She was weak and I feared her influence on you. She is once and for all out of the way. This is your chance to become something invincible. Don't throw that away. I taught you to seize upon every opportunity, glean the most from every situation to achieve your means. Do you care nothing of the time and energy I have spent in you?" His look was penetrating. Draco could almost feel the weight of his will tugging on Draco's own, weaker mind and heart. He was caught in a struggle. He shook his head, unable to answer, for he knew not which answer to give. His father struck out once more with the both down swing and back. Draco backed away, blocking him only just. 

                Tom, seeing his chance to end the chaos, aimed his wand at Draco whose back was to him, blows from his father raining down around him. A soul with that much innocent, pure hatred, he would take his blood before it was all too late. There was one chance to get this right. One bid for life eternal. 

                As he spoke the words that would end Draco's life instantly, Tom was knocked bodily over his precious caldron and altar. The Pensieve rolled under the grate of the fire lit behind the altar. The altar itself, being completely wooden, was consumed in flame. 

                Harry's blow with Gryffindor's sword had rent a large tear through the midsection of the man that had hunted him since his time on this earth had begun. He was engulfed in the flames that reduced the altar to charred pieces of ruin, his cries of indignation and disbelief ringing in their ears. 

                He would see hell after all. He'd never realized his blessed immortality and died knowing that he'd been tricked by his faithful and defeated by good.

 Lucius gave an evilly pleased grin. His work had been done for him. No one stood in his way now. He could fill that envious position of Dark Lord and iron-fisted dictator that Voldemort had made such fool's work out of. He would be feared and obeyed. His son would rule when he was gone—an evil dynasty of tyrannical leadership. The thought nearly made him giddy. 

                Harry dropped the sword and heaved to the ground with the effort of wielding such a massive weapon. Catching his breath would have to wait, however. He noticed with horror that the tapestries and the wooden paneling of the hall was lighting up like an ungodly inferno. 

                Hermione and Ron had seen it too, as they bent over Ginny. 

                Ron heaved her unconscious form into his arms and followed Hermione out. 

                Harry called to Draco who noted the development of the fire as well. Lucius took a moment to look around. As typical medieval structures go, Ravenclaw's castle was no exception. The grand stone fortress was supported from above like all structures of its size—with a timber roof. 

                As the flames climbed higher up the tapestries that lined each wall, rafter upon rafter was engulfed as well. In twenty minutes or less, they would be buried in fiery wood and stone. The building would collapse. 

                Harry, Draco and Lucius Malfoy ran for the exit to the fortress and onto the bridge across the loch. 


	20. The Road To Somewhere

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and crew are responsible for the four fine books that I draw on for inspiration, setting and characters. I have had to create some of my own, just for the sake of flow. Lucy, Imogen, Anni and Elena all qualify as my own creations. I've made no money from this story. It's all in fun. 

Author's Note: This is the space wherein I tell you, my audience, that this story is commencing its second part in this the twentieth chapter of 'The Road to Nowhere'. But, I am faithfully working on the third part of the series, 'Where Madness Gives A Bit'. For A lovely little Christmas treat I am posting this early and am also following it up with the first chapter of the third story. Be sure to check it out after you are finished with this story. And, as always, please tell me what you think. 

Hibiscus: I can't in good conscience trick you into thinking your assumption was at least partially correct. I can't lie to one of my oh so few reviewers and so I merely say, you haven't seen the last of her. 

Oliverwoodsgirl: I thank you so much for your faithful reviews and I only have to say that you are very clever and seldom trickable. The same hint that I gave to Hisbiscus applies to you as well. You two are just too smart for me to mislead. 

CatgirlJasp: I may be one of the very few Peter fans out there. Though I cannot wash all of his sins away for him, I can spin him in a better light. (I am a firm believer in the opinion that James must have done something awful to him). He will not be forgotten in the next story. Please keep reading. There's far more to come. 

Magel: Thank you for your flattering words. I was a little nervous about this ending. Firstly, I never anticipated for Lucy to be so well thought of (though I lover her, myself) and I was unsure about how I was going to include so much action without making it all too confusing. As a result, I might have sold Tom's death a little too short. Let's just chalk that up to bad writing and laziness on the part of the writer. Action is the most exhausting thing, I think, to write. I have gotten better at it though. So stay hooked, please. There's so much more action in the third story that it blows the first two out of the water. 

Chapter Twenty

The Road To Somewhere

_"I'm looking down now that it's over_

_Reflecting on all of my mistakes_

_I thought I found the road to somewhere_

_Somewhere in His grace_

_I cried out, 'Heaven save me!'_

_But I'm down to one last breath_

_And will it let me say_

_Let me say…_

_Hold me now_

_I'm six feet from the edge _

_And I'm thinking_

_That__ maybe six feet _

_Ain't__ so far down…"_

Creed: 'One Last Breath' 

            Out in the driving rain, on the bridge across the loch, Arabella Figg searched wildly for survivors, anyone. 

            The children had been rounded up and herded to safety. Sirius was with them as well as Severus. 

            She was looking for someone entirely different. 

            She knew that if she found him, she would have to do what's right, turn him in. But, when he was in custody of the Ministry, there was still a chance that she could push a deal, get him a shorter sentence, though he deserved none. She just couldn't resign herself to the fact that he may have perished, unredeemable and broken, in dark service till the end. That was never the Peter she knew, the Peter she loved, the real Peter. 

            A splash and then a frigid gasp called her attention to a spot on the bank, several meters over, on the shore. Someone had swam that water and survived? It was amazing—it must be enough to bring one's temperature down alarmingly low. 

            She ran back down the length of the bridge, the flaming remains of the Ravenclaw Keep on Loch Muriadoch reduced to a mass of stone and charred timber. It still blazed wildly and she wondered how many people, innocent and not, had lost their lives in there in the soon to be forgotten mountain of refuse as its flames died away over the next couple of hours, days. 

            By the vantage of the flames now, she could see whom it was that had turned up on the shore. She was known far and wide in the Ministry and other wizard governments around Europe. Elena Vassikin, spy and most favored assassin to the Dark Lord—well, former Dark Lord. She'd known the line of Slytherin had failed when the family's tomb began to crumble and they had been set at liberty. The centuries old magic that had trapped them there had died with his last remnant of blood. 

            The wizarding world had finally seen the end of the Dark Reign. 

            She charged over, hauling the dark Russian to her feet. She was trembling from the cold, but she held her gaze with the spirited redhead that had assaulted her. 

            Three other representatives of the Department of the Mysteries had stayed behind to canvass the area with her and bring in any of the remaining survivors of the Faction that might wash up, as this one had. 

            "Agent Finnigan, take this one," she said, distractedly scanning the tree line in the distance where a movement had caught her eye. She handed the Death Eater over to the sandy blond Unspeakable who took custody of the young woman with no questions. 

            Another look from Arabella told the other two to check out that movement. 

            "I'm going to move around to the other side, see what I can find," she added to Kirin and started to walk away. 

            "What about the girl?" Kirin Finnigan questioned. "She needs medical attention," he insisted, eyeing his charge with concern as she shook, her lips turning blue. 

            Arabella shook her head. "I won't be long. Wait for me."

            Stepping over a half decayed log, she scanned the water once more and then up the slope that served as the approach of the keep. 

            That was when she saw him. Relief washed over her and she headed up to make sure he was all right. Then she would have to arrest him—possibly one of the hardest things she would ever do. 

            Arabella approached and even though he looked in her direction and there was enough light, he didn't see her. In his arms he cradled a small girl, silver-blond ringlets and a round cheery face that now had the gray pallor of the dead. Peter leaned over her, weeping. 

            "Peter," she asked, placing a tentative hand on his arm. 

            He looked up at her with no recognition. "I did it," he cried, "I just as good as killed her. She saved me and I betrayed her and she was wrong about me, I have no hope." He shook his head. He'd given up. It broke Arabella's heart to see him fall to pieces, but he was in jagged fragments now. He would never be the same, no matter how hard she fought for him—how hard this little girl had fought for him. He wouldn't try any longer. 

            "Who is this, Peter?" she asked, trying to pry the girl's lifeless body from his arms. He let her go reluctantly and told her that it was Lucius Malfoy's child. 

            She stood, with the child in her arms and Peter by the hand. He'd accepted his fate and that, in Arabella's opinion, counted for the bravery that everyone thought he never had. 

***

            Assuming that whole structure would collapse any moment, Lucius Malfoy had abandoned the two boys in the entryway, racing back to the hall where they'd come from. Harry and Draco remained on the bridge both aware of what it was that they'd lost and left behind in there. 

            They were both mindful of the fact that they would never see Lucy again. 

            Looking back over the bridge, Harry saw that help had finally arrived, though he couldn't imagine how they'd found them. He wasn't even sure of where he was. Sirius called to them from the other side of the loch. The building would fall and the bridge would give out at any time. They needed to be quick. 

            He looked to Draco who had a self-destructive glint in his eye. He wanted to stay. Harry wasn't willing to lose another person tonight. Another death would not be on his head. He grabbed Malfoy by the back of his sweater and heaved him across the bridge as the entire entryway collapsed where he'd stood moments before. Harry shook his head at Malfoy's suddenly cavalier attitude. Lucy had fought for life, fought hard for it and lost. Draco was looking for ways to hand it off, to end it quickly. If only he could see how insulting it was. 

            If only Harry could have understood the relationship the two siblings had shared. He'd had a duty to his sister. He was her guardian—her protector and he failed at it. As much as he wanted to blame Potter for his lapse in attentiveness, it ultimately fell to Draco, his sister's well being. Her death was his fault entirely. 

            He didn't even blame Ginny entirely. Her betrayal was still very wrong, but it must have come under extreme circumstances, and yet all of it didn't matter. Living didn't matter. He wanted out desperately. 

            Harry had reached the shore and with Sirius they watched the castle fall and the bridge with it. Professor Snape had taken the others to St. Mungo's and they were headed there as well. Draco's arrangements would be made, in all likeliness with his Head of House, when things were sorted out and the story had been pieced together. 

***

            Draco spent his last days of summer seething over the fact that Potter hadn't let him stay, but he also had known why Harry had saved him. Lucy wouldn't have wanted him to end it that way. Harry knew that, and although Draco didn't want to admit it, he knew as well. 

            The late summer breeze, filled with those first vestiges of fall weather, blew past him as he tried to ignore it. He'd been ignoring a lot of things since that day. It all reminded him that life would go on, continuing to be many wonderful things for everyone else. But, it had all but stopped for him. He wouldn't acknowledge that it still existed around him—he was in Purgatory. 

            He walked down the cheery lane from the manor in the late afternoon sun. He and Lucy used to ride down this way often. He wondered if Master Shakespeare would miss her as much as he did. 

            Coming through an avenue of pines Draco stepped out onto a grassy plain out of view of the dominating Georgian building that he alone inhabited now. 

            He was standing on the edge of the family plot. 

            Struggling to keep his features a mask of indifference, even though no one was there to mock him if he had fallen apart—it was the principle of the thing. Draco looked on the resting places of relations that he had despised his whole life, the stones gray and weathered, forgotten by the living. Resting with them were the two people that Draco had loved more than his own life, and they too were gone. 

            The ground around the smaller headstone was disturbed where the earth had been moved to bury her. She had only been laid here, next to her mother, three days ago, and Draco had come to visit her every day since then, sometimes twice. He had to stay out of that drafty old house as much as possible and so he took to wandering the grounds, inevitably ending up in this same spot. 

            He casually kicked the brown leaves from the shade oak off of the two graves and brushed a few from the headstone marking his mother's grave. 

            He stood there and stared at the carved stone words, his hands placed lazily in his pockets. 

            He smiled.

            She was a great admirer of the stoic philosopher and emperor of Rome, Marcus Aurelius. It was only fitting and summed up her time on earth perfectly to quote him on her headstone. 

            It read:

            _Lucilla__ Dale Malfoy_

_4 April, 1983-__23 August, 1997___

_            "Do Every Act As If It Were Your Last."_

            He stood there amidst the painful realization that everything that was good in him had died with her in that cold and impersonal stone cell. 

            He sat with her until the sun had set. 

            Coming into the cold and lonely entrance of the manor again, with the plans of getting pissed and passing out somewhere until tomorrow, he was overcome with a sense of unease. Something wasn't right. The depressing silence of the place had been disturbed. 

            He wouldn't be able to explain later why his feet had automatically led him to Lucy's room, but as he got there he noted with alarm and rage that her door had been opened. The house elves knew not to disturb this room. 

            He threw the door open entirely, expecting to intimidate the brazen intruder only to gasp with horror. 

            No one was there, but the room had been destroyed. Lucy's belongings had been rent and strewn on the ground. Pictures were smashed from their frames and trodden on. Her cello that had once belonged to her mother lay in a disfigured heap on the floor. 

            Draco collapsed to his knees in the middle of the mess, rage clouding his thoughts. He hadn't even the capacity of mind to wonder at that moment who could have been that demented. He only thought of his sister, how upset she would have been to see it all, to see her cello mangled beyond repair.

            Closing the door with a mournful sigh, Draco vowed that he would put back as much as he could salvage. But not tonight, he'd had enough of this. It was time to get drunk. 

            But he wouldn't have the luxury of an alcohol-induced slumber this evening. 

            "Master Draco," Portia squeaked tentatively as her master turned slowly to glare at her. The general rule held that he wasn't to be bothered for anything. 

            "What is it," he asked in a measured tone, trying to keep his patience. 

            "Miss Imogen Spencer is here to see you, sir," she said, taking a step in the direction of the foyer. 

            Draco heaved an annoyed sigh and frowned. He followed the house elf, curious as to why this particular visitor had shown up at his home. 

            He threw the door to the sitting room open as the house elf had gestured that she was waiting inside. 

            The slamming of the door against the wall caused the small, raven-haired girl to jump and turn as he entered, scowling. 

            "What are you doing here?" he asked. 

            "I," she began and then faltered. He regarded his housemate from school with detached interest. She looked as if she'd run a marathon in hell. Her eyes were puffy and shaded with lack of sleep, a dull cobalt color instead of their natural luminescent sapphire. A livid cut caught his attention as he eyed her hand, nervously working a fold of her robes as she stood under his scrutinizing gaze. He wondered what she could have possibly been up to this summer that had transformed the quiet, bookish girl into a case of nerves and injuries. He was about to ask when she finally found the voice to continue. 

            "I heard about your sister," she said, looking at the ground. 

            Draco found that he couldn't stand anymore and was thankful to find a chair nearby. 

            "How did you—it hasn't been released to the press?" he questioned ineloquently. 

            She shook her head to dismiss his fear. "I didn't read about it. I've been in and out of the ministry quite often in the past few days. I wanted to make sure you were all right. I know with your father missing, you're alone and," she faltered again, stepping on the sole of one of her shoes with the other nervously, "I thought you might want some company."

            She bit her lip and choked out, "I'm sorry, Draco."

            He nodded, closing his eyes. He didn't say anything, but invited her to sit down all the same. 

***

            In the next day and a half that Harry had spent at Ginny's side, routinely spelled by either Ron, Hermione or Mrs. Weasley, he'd seen an alarming digression in her condition before she'd finally started to turn around. Her battle would be mostly uphill, but with support like hers, family, friends, she would recover before the train left King's Cross in a week's time. 

            The doctors had been gravely concerned with the level of Truth Serum that she'd been force-injected. Her system was almost completely shut down by the time they'd gotten her to the casualty ward. The detoxification of her system was a rough process and almost as painful for those that loved her to watch. 

            He would always be plagued and haunted by the thought that Lucy had died because of him, and he missed her so much that the pain was intense. He was hardly ever left alone. Nights were terrible and sleep didn't come, but at least he had a handful of memories with her, if that was any consolation. And it wasn't any consolation to him. 

            The day before Ginny was to be released from the hospital, Harry had gone home to Belfast with Sirius. 

            Seeing his regret over the loss of Lucy, Sirius imparted his own story of a woman he once loved. It wasn't intended to help in any way, just a friendly reminder that other people have lived that life too and as hard as it may sound and as much as you may resent the cliché, life still goes on for those who are living in it. 

            Harry would be happy at this point just to dig his ditch and lay in it. Life would not go on, it would bury him and he would let it.       


End file.
